


Amnâs

by Filin prinsessa (ErinacchiLove)



Series: Amnâs-verse [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon - Book & Movie Combination, Canon-Typical Violence, Durin line of awkward dorks, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarf Gender Concepts, Dáin is awesome, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Family Feels, Female Kíli, Frerin Lives, Fíli Is So Done, Gen, Humor, M/M, Shipper Trash Frerin, Shipper Trash Gandalf, Sibling bickering, Slow Build, Slow Burn, The Hobbit Big Bang 2016, canon is twisted for the author's pleasure, don't worry nobody dies in this story, except the bad guys they do die, like glacial, no one is straight, none of the 'Ri's are cis, safe for Dáin fans, they just get very big booboos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2018-07-10 20:12:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 38,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7004695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErinacchiLove/pseuds/Filin%20prinsessa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fourteen Dwarves and a Hobbit set off to a quest to reclaim a homeland and slay a dragon. Bilbo Baggins is possibly the most unlikely creature to take part in such a journey as the Company’s burglar, which won’t pass unnoticed by the Company’s leader, Thorin Oakenshield.</p><p>In the meantime Thorin’s brother, Frerin, notices his brother’s growing interest in their burglar and like all good brothers, he has to do something about it, while trying to figure out his own feelings for a certain someone, and look after his and Thorin's sister-children.</p><p>And it is vital that Dís and Dáin never get to hear about anything that happens during the quest, otherwise they'll never let anyone hear the end of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

> Written for The Hobbit Big Bang 2016  
> Beta-ed by the amazing Tayla (http://dragonbilbo.tumblr.com/) who has been a real saviour for this massive fic ♥ I owe you so much, thank you ♥  
> Art by the wonderful [rutobuka2](http://rutobuka2.tumblr.com/), I'm eternally honoured ♥
> 
> [Link to the artwork](http://rutobuka2.tumblr.com/post/145175341149/my-illustration-for-amn%C3%A2s-akr%C3%A2g-rumush-mudtu)
> 
> I started working on this fic in 2013 but then abandoned it for some reason - and now I thought it was a good time to bring it back to life. I'm not gonna be able to update regularly at all but I'll do it as often as I can. This is my second time doing a Big Bang challenge (first was the reverse Big Bang) and I've had lots of fun^^
> 
> Edit 29.3.2017: changed name from Amnâs, akrâg, rumush mudtu to simply Amnâs, because let's face it no one's gonna call it all that, even I call this fic just Amnâs. It's easier and simpler this way.

Thorin loved his brother Frerin, he really did, but at the very moment he wanted to strangle him. Honestly, why had he not said they turned wrong from the crossroads? They had got hilariously lost in the damn Shire, twice (Dís would have a good laugh if she ever heard), and had only now managed to arrive to the Hobbit hole Gandalf asked them to gather to. And honestly, if it weren’t for the mark on the green door Thorin would have missed the place altogether.

     They heard singing from the inside. Apparently the Company they had managed to gather was teasing their burglar candidate to death (poor little thing, Thorin thought briefly). Frerin just laughed and said, “Come on, brother dear, let’s join the party!”

     Thorin made a face at his brother’s enthusiasm. “No, we are not going to do that. You stay behind me and I’ll knock.”

     “You’re such a spoilsport,” pouted Frerin (a very good pout too, though not as good as Kíli’s. That girl had developed it into a form of art). Thorin merely rolled his eyes before pounding on the door. Everything fell quiet before the two brothers heard steps in the hall and the door opened.

     “Gandalf,” said Thorin with as much pride and dignity as he could muster even though what he actually wanted to do was to punch the wall. “I thought you said this place would be easy to find. We lost our way, twice. We wouldn’t have found it at all if it weren’t for the mark on the door.”

     The brothers stepped inside and the first thing they noticed was their sister-children. Thorin smiled at them while Frerin went one step further and hugged them both tightly. They hadn’t seen each other for many days, due the meetings with all seven kingdoms in Ered Luin. Fíli and Kíli responded with equal joy.

     “What mark?” asked the Hobbit, a tiny little thing with curly tawny hair. “There is no mark on that door, it was painted a week ago!”

     “There is a mark,” said Gandalf to the fairly pissed off Halfling, “I put it there myself. Bilbo, allow me to introduce the leader of our Company, Thorin Oakenshield, and his younger brother Frerin.”

     Thorin looked at the Hobbit – Bilbo Baggins, he reminded himself – and just about willed himself not to gape when he passed his cloak to Kíli. The Hobbit was… actually quite charming, to be honest. Big eyes, curly hair, generally pissed at everything at the moment – exactly Thorin’s type. And Frerin knew this too, what Thorin was able to deduce from the way he looked first at Master Baggins and then at him.

     “So,” said Thorin, “this is the Hobbit.” Then he walked a couple of turns around him. “Tell me, Mister Baggins, have you done much fighting? Axe or sword? What is your weapon of choice?”

     “Well, I do have some skills at conkers, if you must know,” the Hobbit answered, sounding rather fed up. “Though I fail to see why that’s relevant.”

     Thorin noticed how Frerin grinned a bit at Mister Baggins’ statement. He didn’t even want to imagine what his brother was thinking at that moment. This wasn’t the first time Frerin grinned like that and to be honest it always made Thorin worry. He also heard his brother whisper something in Khuzdul to Fíli and Kíli. Damn it Frerin, can’t you shut up for one second?

     Trying to retain his dignity Thorin smirked at Mister Baggins and stated, “Thought as much.” He glanced at the Company. “He looks more like a grocer than a burglar.”

     There was some laugh, and Frerin visibly rolled his eyes. Thorin paid him no attention. He was more interested in knowing why Gandalf was so sure this little Halfling would make a good fifteenth member to their Company. Come on, Mister Baggins had no experience in handling weapons (other than conkers, whatever that may have been. Judging from Frerin’s snickering it was nothing Thorin wanted to know), he was clearly used to domestic life, never having to live on the road, and quite frankly Thorin wasn’t sure he had even done any actual burglaries.

     Frerin patted Thorin’s shoulder, grin still wide, and said in Khuzdul, “ _I like the Hobbit. He’s adorable_.”

     “ _That’s the thing_ ,” replied Thorin. “ _We need a proper burglar, not an adorable kitten. This quest cannot fail_.”

     “ _How do you know he’s not a proper burglar if you’ve never seen him in action_?” argued Frerin. Thorin scoffed and earned some strange looks from Glóin and Dori.

     “ _It’s more than clear that he has never done a day’s work_ ,” said Thorin. “ _And then there was that talk about conkers..._ ”

     Frerin laughed and interrupted in Westron, “I think it’s a good thing he knows how to handle nuts. Might come in handy at some point.”

     Thorin didn’t catch the innuendo until Frerin walked past him, laughing and telling jokes to Fíli and Kíli, still in Westron. Thorin gaped at his younger brother in aghast. How dared he imply... Thorin didn’t even finish the thought. He was going to strangle his brother, put him into a sack and throw him to a pack of angry, bloodthirsty Wargs. He had planned this many a time but never as seriously as now. He was going to do it, whether or not Dís would kill him afterwards.

 

* * *

 

The Company sat around Mister Baggins’ table again and Thorin and Frerin were given nice bowls of some sort of chicken soup. Frerin smiled at the Hobbit and thanked him cordially while Thorin sulked, as per usual. Frerin seriously felt like kicking his shin and telling him off for being so rude to their host, but for once he chose to hold his tongue. Balin had just asked how the meetings in Ered Luin went and Thorin replied that the delegates of all seven kingdoms were there.

     “What did the Dwarves of the Iron Hills say?” asked Dwalin. “Is Dáin with us?”

     Thorin and Frerin shared a grim look, and Thorin answered, “They will not come.”

     The mood around the table sank remarkably. Many made frustrated noises, and Fíli and Kíli looked at their uncles, eyes wide with concern. Did this mean the quest would be cancelled, then?

     “They said this quest is ours and ours alone,” Frerin finished and took a sip of the soup. It was very good; Mister Baggins clearly knew how to cook. This was such a lovely change from whatever they’d had to eat on the road. (Frerin could easily swear his stomach still hadn’t recovered from the food poisoning Thorin’s cooking gave him a month ago.)

     “You’re going on a quest?” asked Mister Baggins with a tone of surprise, and Frerin couldn’t help but think how adorable he was...

     “Bilbo, my dear fellow, let us have a little more light,” pleaded Gandalf and Mister Baggins complied, bringing a candle as the Wizard placed a map on the table (Dwalin managed to save the biscuits just in time). “Far to the East, over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single solitary peak.”

     Frerin squeezed Thorin’s hand under the table briefly. This was the most either of them had seen of the place in years...

     “’The Lonely Mountain’,” said Bilbo, peeking over Thorin’s shoulder. Then Glóin told the Company how Óin had read the portents and how they said it was time. Óin continued by saying that birds had been spotted flying back to the mountain as it had been foretold.

     “When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the Beast will be over,” Óin recited. There were several solemn looks and a brief silence fell over the table, until Mister Baggins broke it.

     “Umm... what beast?” he inquired.

     “Well that would be a reference to Smaug the Terrible,” answered Bofur helpfully. Frerin had always liked him, he was cheerful and loyal. “Chiefest and greatest calamity of our age. Airborne fire breather, teeth like razors, claws like meat hooks. Extremely fond of precious metals.”

     Yes, thank you Bofur, you might have just managed to scare our burglar candidate away, Frerin thought.

     “Yes, I know what a dragon is!” huffed Mister Baggins.

     Then Ori, sweet little Ori, stood up and announced, “I’m not afraid, I’m up for it! I’ll give him a taste of Dwarvish iron right up his jacksy!”

     Ohh, you’re so cute I could just cuddle you forever, Frerin thought with a fond smile. Dori pulled his youngest brother back on his seat and scolded him for being too enthusiastic.

     “The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us,” Balin put in, wisely as usual, “but we number just fourteen. And not fourteen of the best – nor brightest.”

     This created many disgruntled objections and Frerin muttered along with the others, “Who are you calling stupid?”

     Then Fíli, Mahal bless his brave heart, banged his hand loudly on the table and exclaimed, “We may be few in number, but we’re fighters, all of us! To the last Dwarf!”

     “And you forget we have a Wizard in our Company!” Kíli added quickly. “Gandalf must’ve killed hundreds of dragons in his time!”

     Almost all hell broke loose when Gandalf murmured that he might not have killed that many and Dori started to demand he gave them a number. The Dwarves began to argue with a lot of heat, and Frerin buried his face in his hand. Mister Baggins tried to ask them to calm down but it was not until Thorin stood up that the fighting and the bickering ceased.

     “Shazara!” yelled Thorin, and everyone fell silent and sat back down. Frerin gave his older brother a thankful look. “If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them too?” Thorin asked the table. “You all know perfectly well that rumours have begun to spread.”

     “There has been no sign of the dragon, Smaug, for nearly sixty years,” added Frerin, though he remained seated. “Eyes look to the East, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk.”

     “Exactly,” Thorin agreed. “Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies in the mountain unprotected. Do we just sit back and let others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?”

     Thorin nearly shouted the last four words and everyone cheered at him, apart from Balin who reminded how the front gate had remained sealed to the date. There was no way into the mountain. Frerin groaned a bit. He had completely forgotten about that part. But Balin was right, they had sealed the front gate and sealed it should’ve remained to this day.

     “That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true,” Gandalf chimed in and pulled up a key from somewhere. (For real, where in his robes did he keep all these things?) Thorin looked at the key as if he’d seen a ghost. Frerin’s eyes grew wide when he, too, recognised which key was in question.

     “How came you by this?” breathed Thorin and grabbed Frerin’s hand for some support. Frerin made no objection, truth be told he felt like needing to hold his big brother’s hand as well.

     “It was given to me, by your father,” answered Gandalf. “By Thráin. For safekeeping, it is yours now.” He handed the key over to Thorin. The brothers shared another look before they both looked at the key. It had been decades since they’d last seen it, they both had thought it went missing along with their father.

     It was Fíli who broke the silence that had fallen.

     “If there is a key... there must be a door.”

     _No, really, I never realised_ , Frerin wanted to say.

     “These runes speak of a hidden passage into the lower halls,” Gandalf told them, pointing at some runes in the side of the map.

     “There’s another way in,” grinned Kíli and smiled at her older brother who smiled back. Frerin felt almost like screaming, and what he could see from his brother’s expression, so did Thorin. How did they end up having such stupid sister-children? Or maybe not stupid per se, more like a tad thoughtless. How Dís and Víli had ever managed to raise them at all, Frerin wasn’t sure he even wanted to know.

     Then Gandalf spoke more of the hidden door and how Dwarven doors were invisible when closed. He added that the answer lay somewhere in the map but he did not have the skill to find it. But apparently, there were others in Middle-Earth who could read it. The task he had in mind required a great deal of both stealth and courage, but that if they were careful and clever, it could be done. Frerin raised an eyebrow at the Wizard and then turned his glance to Mister Baggins as Ori piped in, “That’s why we need a burglar!”

     “And a good one too,” hummed Mister Baggins. “An expert I’d imagine.”

     “And are you?” asked Glóin.

     Mister Baggins looked a bit lost and uneasy. “Am I what?”

     “He says he’s an expert!” Óin rejoiced, his trumpet tightly on his ear.

     “Me? No! No, no, no, I’m not a burglar!” Mister Baggins told them. “I’ve never stolen a thing in my life!”

     “I’m afraid I have to agree with Mister Baggins,” stated Balin. “He’s hardly burglar material.”

     _Damn, Balin might be right_ , Frerin groaned in his mind. But for Durin’s sake was he the only one who was able to see the way Thorin looked at Mister Baggins from the corner of his eye? Frerin was quite prepared to train the Hobbit himself if he only joined the Company. Thorin had been all alone for far too long...

     “Aye, the Wild is not for gentle folk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves,” Dwalin agreed with his older brother and Frerin noticed how Bilbo nodded eagerly. The Company started to bicker again, some saying that Bilbo Baggins would do just fine and some said he shouldn’t come at all.

     “Enough!” yelled Gandalf and stood up. The room seemed to go darker all of the sudden. “If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he is!” The Grey Wizard sat back down. “Hobbits are remarkably light on their feet. In fact, they can pass unnoticed by most if they choose. And while the dragon is accustomed to the smell of Dwarf, the scent of Hobbit is all but unknown to him, which gives us a distinct advantage. You asked me to find a fifteenth member to this Company and I have chosen Mister Baggins. There is a lot more to him than appearances suggest. He’d got a great deal more to offer than any of you know. Including himself,” Gandalf looked at Bilbo with a smile. Bilbo didn’t seem convinced, and Frerin couldn’t really blame him. “You must trust me in this,” Gandalf finished, still with a small smile on his face.

     Thorin and Frerin looked at each other quickly before Thorin replied, “Very well. We’ll do it your way.” He turned to Balin while Bilbo tried to murmur some half-hearted objections. “Give him the contract!”

     Balin pulled the contract sheet from a pocket inside his coat and handed it over to Thorin, telling Bilbo how it was just the usual, mainly. “Out-of pocket expenses, time required, remunerations, funeral arrangements, so forth.”

     Bilbo looked extremely frightened when Thorin passed the contract over to him without so much as looking at him, and squeaked, “Funeral arrangements?”

     Frerin couldn’t help but feel pity to the Hobbit. He knew far too well how Dwarven contracts were.

     Bilbo started to read the massively long contract, muttering to himself, while Thorin turned to Gandalf and whispered so that only Frerin heard, “I cannot guarantee his safety.”

     “Understood,” answered Gandalf.

     “Nor will I be responsible of his fate.”

     Gandalf paused for a breath. “Agreed.”

     Frerin rolled his eyes, being the only one who heard the exchange of words. He had a feeling Thorin had never told a bigger lie in all his life. He wasn’t sure why, it was mainly just a hunch. But then again his hunch had often proved right, so he had his hopes up. Maybe Thorin was not as stupid as he always let on.

     Bilbo had now read a great deal of the contract when he proceeded to the section about injuries.

     “’Present company shall not be liable for injuries inflicted by, or sustained as a consequence thereof, including but not limited to...’ lacerations? Evisceration?” Bilbo looked up at the Dwarves. “Incineration?”

     Bofur shrugged. “Oh aye, he’ll melt the flesh of yer bones in the blink of an eye.”

     Bilbo went pale and Frerin was just about to ask if he was all right, but Balin got there first.

     “You all right, laddie?” he asked.

     “Huh? Yeah, I’m okay,” breathed Bilbo. “Feeling a bit faint.”

     “Think furnace, with wings,” said Bofur, and Frerin wanted to put an arrow through his shoulder. That was _not_ helpful. In the end he ended up kicking Bofur’s shin but the other Dwarf didn’t seem to take the hint.

     “I-I-I need air,” Bilbo managed.

     “Flash of light, searing pain, then poof! You’re nothing more than a pile of ash!”

     Frerin glanced at Bilbo who moved feebly, then said, “Nope”, and fainted. Frerin smacked Bofur in the shoulder at the same time as Gandalf huffed and commented how very helpful the toymaker was (meaning not at all).

 

* * *

 

Thorin knew this. Mister Baggins was definitely the wrong person to this duty. If he fainted here, in his own house (hole, whatever) from mere talk of the dragon, what chance would he ever have out in the Wild? None whatsoever. And yet Frerin kept insisting that “Bilbo” was going to be perfect for the task. Thorin told his brother to shut up, only to see how little effect his command had. The only person who had ever been able to shut Frerin up was their mother, Mahal bless her soul and memory. No one else had ever stood a chance.

     “Thorin, I’m telling you, just give him a chance!” pleaded Frerin. “I’m asking this as your brother!”

     “That is a cheap shot, I hope you know that,” retorted Thorin. “Fine, I’ll grant the Halfling a chance, but he has to join us voluntarily. You are not to persuade him. That’s an order!” he added when Frerin looked like he was going to object.

     “You’re an idiot, nadad,” sighed Frerin. “I saw the way you looked at him when your eyes first met.”

     Thorin snorted. “That sounds like something out of Dís’ romance novels.”

     “All of which you have read and know by heart, may I remind,” Frerin grinned impishly. “To say you are smitten with Bilbo would be the understatement of the Age.”

     Had Thorin already mentioned how much he would’ve liked to strangle Frerin? Oh, right, he had, moving on. Thorin glared at his younger brother, trying to think of a clever reply. He was not smitten with the Halfling, Mahal forbid!

     “Frerin, I don’t care what delusions you have,” growled Thorin, “but do not imply anything like that ever again.”

     “Or what? You’ll send me right back home for Dís’ target practice?” scoffed Frerin. “I’d like to see you try.”

     Thorin shook his head at his brother’s hopelessness and moved on to talk with Balin. If Frerin wanted to be a git, that was completely his business, not any of Thorin’s. From the corner of his eye Thorin saw how Frerin went to Bofur and Nori, probably to rant what a spoilsport of an older brother he had. That was certainly not any news, he had done so many times before, though usually in a tavern and he had had quite a few ales too.

     Then Thorin and Balin overheard Mister Baggins saying that he couldn’t sign the contract. Thorin sighed. He knew this.

     “It appears we have lost our burglar,” Balin stated simply. “Probably for the best. The odds were always against us. After all, what are we? Merchants, miners, tinkers, toymakers. Hardly the stuff of legend.”

     “There are a few warriors amongst us,” smiled Thorin. Frerin then appeared out of nowhere, startling both Dwarves nearly to an early grave.

     “What? Is Master Baggins not coming?”

     “It appears not,” replied Balin. “And the warriors you are referring to, Thorin, are old.”

     Thorin gave both Balin and Frerin a stern look. “I would take each and every one of these Dwarves over an army from the Iron Hills, for when I called upon them they answered. Loyalty, honour,” Thorin looked specifically at Frerin, “a willing heart. I can ask no more than that.”

     Frerin put his hand on Thorin’s shoulder with a smile. Thorin would’ve never said it out loud but it gave him hope whenever Frerin did that. It had been just the three of them, the two brothers and Dís, ever since grandfather Thrór was killed and their father went missing – five when Fíli and Kíli were born. It was a small, broken family, but it was all they had, and they would’ve stopped at nothing to make sure its former glory was restored.

     Balin was anguished. “You don’t have to do this! You have a choice! You’ve both done honourably by our people. You’ve built us a new life in the Blue Mountains, a life of peace and plenty.” His face grew grimmer. “A life that is worth more than all the gold in Erebor.”

     Thorin pulled out the key to Erebor. “From our grandfather to our father _this_ has come to us. They dreamt of the day when the Dwarves of Erebor would reclaim their homeland. There is no choice, Balin.” Thorin and Frerin shared a dour look. “Not for us.”

     Balin let out a sigh but nodded anyway. “Then we are with you, lads. We will see it done.”

     Thorin smiled and patted the hand Balin had placed on his shoulder. He was truly grateful for the presence of his old tutor and friend. It was calming and more than reassuring. He knew Balin had never been rooting for this idea, he knew Balin thought it to be folly, but he was there all the same, ready to fight for this chance to reclaim what was rightfully theirs. Balin would never waver, never let him down.

     Neither would Frerin.

     The two brothers weren’t that old on the scale of Dwarves but they had seen more than most. They had fought together ever since Frerin had been old enough to wield a sword, they’d seen more death than anyone can imagine, always having each other’s backs. They were little more than tweens when Erebor was lost. Thorin had done everything in his power to make sure Frerin was never given more than he was able to bear. Only it hasn’t been enough, not always.

     Frerin nudged Thorin a bit and grinned. They wouldn’t fail, they would reclaim their homeland and Frerin would make sure he’d see Thorin crowned as king. King under the Mountain. Thorin felt often that he wasn’t ready to be king and Frerin would then always remind that he was one already, in all but official title.

     “You heard Balin,” said Frerin. “We’ll see it done. We’ll see the dream of our father and grandfather come true.”

     Thorin looked at the scar slashed across his brother’s face. Out of all things he fought for it was the greatest. Thorin fought for the rest of his family as well but he was, had always been, closest to Frerin. He never wanted to see his little brother hurt like that, not if he had any say in it. Sure, they bickered a lot, but that was what brothers tended to do.

     “Aye,” answered Thorin. “We’ll see this done together, and when it is done, we shall also rule together.”

     Frerin chuckled. “No, you’re the king, always have been. I’m no leader, at least not as good as you. I have my moments, I’ll admit, but you were the one who rallied our people and led us to victory in Azanulbizar. Thorin, don’t underestimate yourself. You’ll be an amazing king.”

     Frerin paused and smirked. “And Bilbo will be an amazing consort.”

     “Will you not let that go?” Thorin groaned and rolled his eyes. “I don’t know where you get all your silly ideas but I swear to Durin’s name they’ve gone too far this time!”

     “Oh come on, Thorin!” exclaimed Frerin. “You know as well as I do that Bilbo is exactly your type. Brother, you’ve been alone for far too long, always putting our people before your own needs.”

     “Speak for yourself,” scoffed Thorin. “I don’t see you having a consort either.”

     Frerin only smiled mysteriously and remained silent. Thorin was all too familiar with that scheming face. He hadn’t seen the end of this yet. Frerin was incredibly stubborn, even for a Dwarf and a Durin, Thorin knew this better than well. Frerin might’ve seemed innocent and vulnerable, what with his dark blond hair and easy smile, but he was also the most calculating person Thorin had ever known, in better and in worse.

     “Why is it even so important to you?” asked Thorin. “The Halfling will not join us, our paths won’t cross again. You know this as well as I do.”

     “Are you just letting him go that easily?” Frerin demanded. “I saw the way you looked at him! I’ve only ever seen that look twice in my life. First in our father’s eyes, whenever he looked at Mother. And then... in Dís’.”

     Thorin opened his mouth for a smart answer but realised that he had none. But Frerin was wrong. Sure, he initially thought the Hobbit was rather sweet, but also weak and unfit for this quest. He would only slow them down and they couldn’t afford any more hindrance. Years they had dreamt of seeing Erebor again, they would not wait any longer, Thorin least of all.

     “Go find Fíli and Kíli,” said Thorin when he finally regained his voice. “Tell them we leave at first light. I shall inform the others.”

     Frerin put his hands up and groaned, “Fine, fine. We’ll do this your way, even though I think you’re completely bonkers.”

     “You’ve spent too much time with Bofur again, I can hear it,” Thorin stated and left to find Dwalin. He needed some sensible company for a change. It was official then – Frerin was positively out of his mind. Must have been the result of all those drinking contests with Bofur. They had addled his brain. Thorin didn’t mind Frerin spending time Bofur and his other friends but he did mind the effects of those drinking contests. They were clearly no good.

 

* * *

 

Fíli and Kíli weren’t hard to find. They were in the bathroom, trying to repair Bilbo’s plumbing, though with relatively poor results. Frerin couldn’t help a laugh when the sink shot water at Kíli’s face and both let out a series of juicy swearwords.

     “You’ll never fix it like that,” stated Frerin and took the spanner from Fíli. “Let me.”

     “Thanks, Uncle,” answered Fíli with a small smile. “Is it true what Balin says? Mister Baggins won’t join us?”

     Frerin sighed. “It appears so.”

     “We won’t have a burglar?” Kíli piped up.

     “We’ll manage,” Frerin smiled. “We’re Dwarves, we’ve been made to endure. One way or another we will reclaim Erebor. You two will see our homeland in its former glory.”

     He fastened the loose screw in the sink before telling the lads that they were to leave at the break of dawn. Fíli nodded and said he had expected this to be the order. Kíli agreed, and Frerin ruffled their hair. Whatever may come, they would stick together. Frerin wouldn’t let any harm come to his sister-children, not if there was anything he was able to do to help it. He promised Dís he’d keep them safe the best he could, as did Thorin.

     Frerin worked on the sink for a moment longer until he giggled. “You know, you weren’t actually supposed to destroy Master Baggins’ plumbing.”

     “It was an accident, Uncle Frerin,” complained Fíli. “Besides, it wasn’t even us, it was Nori.”

     Frerin finished the work and then said they were supposed to gather in the drawing room for a talk. They needed to figure out how to proceed from here, now that they wouldn’t have a burglar anymore. Nori would volunteer, no doubt, but the trouble truly was that the dragon knew what Dwarves smelled like. It was going to be really hard to sneak in the mountain, knowing that. They had to re-plan everything.

     The whole Company gathered by the fireplace, some of them pulling out their pipes and lighting them, and then they talked. Turned out none of them had the slightest idea what to do. Nori suggested half-heartedly that he could be their burglar now but even he knew it wouldn’t work out in the long run. So they were back to square one. The youngest members of the Company (namely Fíli, Kíli and Ori) looked at Thorin and Balin, hoping they would have an answer. They were sorely disappointed.

     “So what do we do?” asked Fíli.

     “We shall figure it out on the way,” replied Thorin. “We are the Dwarves of Erebor, we are survivors.”

     “That won’t cheer up much when you’re incinerated by a dragon,” Glóin put in with a dark tone and everyone knew he was quite right. But they had to try. They couldn’t back off now, not after everything they had sacrificed for this quest. Dori and Glóin probably wouldn’t have even joined in the first place, but since Nori, Ori and Óin had, they had to do so too. Dori wouldn’t let Ori be alone with Nori, and Glóin, despite having a young son, was reluctant to let Óin go on his own, being nearly deaf and all. So they both had signed their contracts and joined the Company. Frerin couldn’t blame them for their reluctance; if it had been up to him he wouldn’t have let Fíli and Kíli join either. But the siblings had appealed to the fact that they were of age, so Thorin and Frerin had had no choice.

     Frerin got up and decided to leave for a short while. He needed some fresh air, and while he was at it, he decided to go thank Bilbo for his hospitality. It was the decent thing to do after all. Frerin was quite sure Bilbo hadn’t expected his hole to be invaded by a bunch of Dwarves. To be honest Frerin was very amazed the Hobbit didn’t throw them out at any point.

     It didn’t take that long to find Bilbo. He was in the pantry, grieving its emptiness. Frerin made a mental note to scold the others for pillaging it. He cleared his throat a bit and Bilbo turned to look at him.

     “Oh, hello,” he said.

     “Master Baggins, I’d like to thank you for your hospitality,” answered Frerin with a smile. “You’ve been most kind to us and the soup was delicious. It’s been awhile since I’ve eaten anything so good.”

     “Oh, it was nothing,” said Bilbo and waved his hand in a dismissing manner. “It was all there was left, really.”

     “Either way,” insisted Frerin. “Trust me, when you’ve lived with Thorin on cooking duty, you really appreciate whenever you get a decent meal. I’m still slightly suffering from a food poisoning his stew gave me last month.”

     Bilbo laughed at that. “Sorry,” he apologised the next second. “I didn’t mean to offend your brother, Master... Frerin, wasn’t it?”

     “Aye. And don’t worry, I offend him and his cooking all the time too.” Frerin paused for a short moment. “By the way, if you have second thoughts about not signing the contract, you’d be most welcome to join the Company. Even if you aren’t a burglar we really could use a cook like you.”

     Bilbo let out a sigh. “I’m terribly sorry but I won’t change my mind. I can’t just go on an adventure right out of the blue! Yavanna forbid, what would my neighbours think? And I would miss so many meals, too!”

     Now it was Frerin’s turn to laugh. “You Hobbits really are all about comfort, aren’t you? No, I didn’t mean it as an offence,” he added quickly. “If anything I think it’s quite smart, actually, to value a peaceful life and good meals. Well, anyway, I’d like to say thank you again and, in case our paths won’t meet again, I wish you all the best in the world. I really do.”

     Bilbo smiled at him, said thank you and wished him the best luck with the quest. Then they parted. Bilbo went to his bedroom and Frerin returned to the drawing room where the others had started to hum. It didn’t take long until Thorin began to sing with his deep voice.

 

 _“Far over the Misty Mountains cold_  
_To dungeons deep and caverns old_  
_We must away ere break of day,_  
_To find our long-forgotten gold”_

Gradually everyone joined in and they sang the next verse together.

 

     _“The pines were roaring on the height_  
     _The winds were mourning in the night_  
_The fire was red, it flaming spread_  
_The trees like torches blazed with light”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul translations:  
> Amnâs, akrâg, rumush mudtu = Loyalty, honour, a willing heart  
> Shazara! = silence!  
> Nadad = brother
> 
> Some dialogue taken from The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey or modified from it.
> 
> Frerin's PoV is probably the funniest I've ever written^^ that guy is such a sweetheart, I love him ♥
> 
> 27 chapters is my estimated chapter count. Might get longer.


	2. Chapter II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frerin is a little shit, Thorin is emotionally constipated, and Bilbo's day just got a lot worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been singing Happy by Pharrell Williams a lot since I released this fic because the initial response was so good ♥ thank you everyone who has so far kudos'd and commented (especially those who have commented) ♥
> 
> I'll put chapter three in once I've got chapter four properly going on.
> 
> There's some description of PTSD in this chapter. It's not explicit or long, but if you have trouble with that sort of stuff, proceed with caution.

Dawn came too quickly. Frerin was still asleep when Thorin shoved him sharply on the shoulder. He groaned and pulled his quilt over his head as a protest. It was not even first light yet, right? He still had a couple of minutes before he absolutely had to get up. The bedroll was so warm, he didn’t have to get up yet because the sun was not up, and Thorin could go screw himself for all he cared...

     Except Thorin wouldn’t. He had other things in his mind.

     “Frerin, get up!” hissed Thorin and pulled the covers off.

     “No no no, not the quilt!” wailed Frerin and finally opened his eyes. He looked at Thorin with a murderous frown and pointed a finger at him. “I will kill you.”

     “We have a homeland to reclaim first,” answered Thorin drily and tossed the covers back to his brother. “Now up with your sorry arse! Next time I will kick you in the shin if I have to tell you again!”

     Frerin grumbled in Khuzdul and more or less told Thorin to burn in hell, and when Thorin actually did kick him in the shin he finally managed to pull himself up. For a moment he had no idea where he was or what he was supposed to do but then it all came screaming back to him. Right... today they were finally properly going on the quest. Frerin rubbed his eyes and started to pack up his things before he went to help Thorin and Fíli and Kíli with the ponies that waited outside. He gave Bag End one last glance. Oh, he was definitely going to miss that place. Maybe if they managed to reclaim Erebor he could come back to visit Bilbo. That is, if he didn’t die on the journey, which was a possibility. The journey was probably the longest Frerin had ever set his foot on.

     The sun hadn’t even properly started to rise yet when the Company took off. Most of them were still half asleep and ended up snoozing in the saddles. It was a miracle no one fell off their pony at any point. Thorin was in the lead and Frerin sincerely hoped that maybe this time they wouldn’t get lost. It was quite fun that one time last night but he didn’t want to wander in the Shire again. Not that Frerin would’ve actually minded it, they just didn’t have time for losing their way. Well, Glóin and Dwalin were near his brother so maybe it wasn’t as hopeless as Frerin anticipated. Those two could read a map, unlike Thorin who always said maps were no use to him, he’d find his way on his own. Good luck with that then, try find the Lonely Mountain all on your own.

     “Uncle Frerin, d’you reckon he’ll show up after all?” asked Kíli after steering her pony next to Frerin’s.

     “Who?”

     “Mister Boggins of course!”

     “Kíli, first of all it’s Baggins, not Boggins,” sighed Frerin. “And I don’t know. I hope he does but in that case he has to hurry if he wishes to catch up with us.”

     “Care to make it interesting?” asked Nori with a devilish grin. “I bet ye small pockets o’ gold he won’t show up.”

     There were many shouts of “you’re on!” and to Frerin’s slight disappointment most of them ended up betting against Bilbo showing up. The few who bet that he would were – along with Frerin – Gandalf, Óin, and Bofur. Thorin and Ori didn’t participate. Thorin thought it was completely idiotic and Ori was told not to by Dori. Frerin had a feeling he was going to win some gold, since Gandalf also bet for Bilbo turning up eventually. Fíli and Kíli just laughed at him and they both said he was bonkers for thinking so.

     The sun was up and they were in what the Hobbits called _East Farthing_ when they heard someone calling them.

     “Wait, wait!”

     Frerin halted his pony with a smug grin. It seemed like he got the last laugh after all. He looked at his nephew and niece with an open palm, and with heavy grumbling they placed two small pockets of gold in it.

     “I signed it,” announced Bilbo and offered the contract to Balin. Frerin tried to see how Thorin had reacted to this sudden turn of events. They’d have a burglar after all. Thorin was grumpy as ever, only telling them to give Bilbo a pony after Balin had checked the signature, stated that everything appeared to be in order, and welcomed Bilbo to the Company. Bilbo tried to say he wouldn’t need a pony, that he had had a lot of walking holidays and was sure he could keep up by foot, but Frerin wouldn’t hear any of it. He signed Fíli and Kíli to pick the Hobbit up, and they obliged. Bilbo didn’t seem to like it one bit. To put it bluntly he was very awkward with the pony. He probably had never ridden before.

     “C’mon Nori, pay up!” exclaimed Óin and laughed when the other Dwarf tossed him a pocket of gold. Frerin also received a couple more, as did Bofur.

     “What was that all about?” Frerin heard Bilbo ask from Gandalf.

     “Oh, they took wagers on whether or not you’d turn up,” replied Gandalf. “Most of them bet that you wouldn’t.”

     “And what did you think?”

     “Well...” The Wizard caught a pocket and laughed. “My dear fellow, I never doubted you a moment.”

     Neither did I, Frerin thought. Or maybe he did, but only a bit. Somehow he knew Bilbo was going to turn up and he was still incredibly happy that it happened. Not only for the Company’s sake (or the fact that he didn’t have to give up his gold) but for Thorin’s, too. As the pony trotted onwards Frerin could see countless possibilities for those two. And quite honestly, Thorin wasn’t going to get any younger and when he eventually sat on the throne of Erebor he was bound to need a consort with common sense. Enter Bilbo Baggins, Frerin grinned to his thoughts. He knew, though, that Bilbo and Thorin didn’t have the best start in the history, and thus he hoped Bilbo would be able to see past Thorin’s grumpy exterior and get to know the Dwarf underneath (in more senses than one).

     Then Bilbo sneezed and stated that the horse hair was giving him a reaction. Frerin didn’t think much of it until Bilbo shouted, “No wait, stop! Stop! We have to turn around!”

     Oh Mahal, Frerin thought. Hope it was not anything serious...

     “What on earth is the matter?” asked Gandalf while the Hobbit searched the pockets of his coat.

     “I forgot my handkerchief!”

     ... what? So they halted because Mister Baggins forgot some stupid handkerchief? And here Frerin thought it was something serious. Well, he was relieved that it wasn’t, but still. Didn’t Bilbo understand he had to manage without any of the comforts of home?

     Bofur ripped a piece of cloth from his coat and threw it to Bilbo. “Here,” he said. “Use this!”

     Bilbo looked absolutely flabbergasted as he viewed the piece of cloth, now his new handkerchief, and everyone laughed. Thorin grunted and said, “Move on!”

     The road took them all the way through the Shire, past Bree, to the Lone-Lands. They went on all day, only stopping once to eat. The meal wasn’t much and Frerin couldn’t help but notice Bilbo’s disappointment. Oh, of course, he wasn’t used to living on the road, living with close to nothing. Well, at least today they stopped to have a meal. Some days they’d be eating when riding, and Frerin knew all too well how light those meals could be. He had had his fair share of them and he hoped once they reclaim Erebor they would be history. Mahal knew Frerin had seen enough hunger in his time.

     The meal was short and light, but fun. Dwalin and Nori arm-wrestled until Bombur was done warming the stew, Fíli and Kíli cheered for both of them whenever one managed to move the other’s arm, and Ori was furiously scribbling into his journal, probably illustrating the battle. Frerin shared the duty of watching the ponies with Bofur, and even though he generally hated it, the presence of the toymaker made it more bearable.

     “So, what do you think of Bilbo?” asked Bofur while brushing his pony. “I saw ye betting that he’d join us.”

     “Aye,” replied Frerin. “Gandalf said there’s more to him than meets the eye and I’m eager to see it.”

     “But that ain’t the only reason, is it?” Bofur flashed a knowing grin. Frerin figured he was joking at first but then he saw something else in his eyes. And even though that something seemed familiar he didn’t quite realise what it could’ve be.

     “Bofur, he’s our burglar,” said Frerin. “Whatever everyone else might say, we need him for this quest. I bet that he’d join us because I want the best for this stupid suicide mission, as you call it. And – and I want the best for my brother as well.”

     Bofur blinked a couple of times, trying to connect the dots – and then he got what Frerin meant. “Oh. _Oh_. So you mean that–”

     “That my brother is smitten with our burglar? Oh aye,” stated Frerin with an easy smile. “He just doesn’t see it.”

     Bofur snorted. “Well we can’t have that, can we?”

     Frerin opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by Glóin who brought them the meal. He told them Nori won the arm wrestling and everyone ought to keep out of Dwalin’s way. Apparently he had already snapped a plate in two in his rage. Glóin gave the plates to Frerin and Bofur, and took his leave.

     “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t, lads,” he joked before heading back to the others. Bofur and Frerin shared a look with raised eyebrows.

     “Whatever did he mean by that?” asked Bofur.

     “I don’t even wanna know,” Frerin huffed because knowing Glóin the statement didn’t rule out much, then pulled out his spoon, and sat down on a trunk. “Let’s eat, I’m starving.”

     Bofur laughed and sat next to the prince – a rare honour for most, but Frerin and Bofur had been close friends for decades now, and they had shared more meals than either of them could count.

     They were not even properly done when Thorin came to tell they were to take off again. Bofur finished with his stew hastily, and Frerin decided to eat the rest in the saddle. Secretly he sort of liked having a meal in the saddle, though if he were asked he would’ve strictly denied it. Eating like that was hardly prince-like... not that Frerin actually cared if he acted like a proper prince or not. He hadn’t been one in well over a century, if actually ever. He had been so young when Erebor was lost, hardly past his tweens, and not that much older when he fought in Azanulbizar.

     They trotted off and Frerin forgot all his grim thoughts as he started to joke and laugh with Bofur, Nori, and his nephews again.

 

* * *

 

It was almost dark when the Company finally stopped for the night. They settled on a small cliff wherever was comfortable, mainly under the spruce and pine trees here and there. Fíli and Kíli were given the first watch shift, and the rest of them went to sleep, aside from Gandalf who was still having a smoke. Thorin settled on some rocks near his sister-children, and Frerin went to sleep in between Bilbo and Bofur. Thorin, however, found that he couldn’t sleep, however. He kept his eyes closed but the sleep never came. He tossed and turned around and he didn’t know why. It was not for the Halfling’s presence, it couldn’t be. He was surprised when Master Baggins joined the Company, of course. He would’ve thought the Hobbit rather stayed home by his warm hearth than come along on this journey, but apparently he was wrong. What Thorin wasn’t sure of is whether the Hobbit was brave or just very stupid – actually he felt the same way about Frerin as well…

     Oh dear, Thorin groaned in his head. If this meant he had to look after another reckless and foolish idiot... Thorin shook his head slightly. He did _not_ sign up for this. Thorin sincerely hoped Master Baggins is smarter than his brother because he couldn’t deal with another Azanulbizar. He had been so close to losing Frerin back there, he couldn’t let it happen again. Thorin probably wouldn’t have let Frerin come with him for this quest in the first place if he’d had any say in it, but he didn’t. Frerin wouldn’t have let him go on his own, so Thorin didn’t even try to forbid his brother. Besides, he had to admit that he slept better when he knew where Frerin was.

     Thorin tried to make himself comfortable but woke up when he heard Master Baggins getting up (he couldn’t blame him – not many people were able to sleep when Bombur was snoring nearby). He noted that the Halfling went to his pony, Myrtle, and patted and whispered something to her. Well, if it helped him to get used to this quest...

     Then there were some shrill screams in the distance and Thorin’s senses grew more vigilant.

     “What was that?” asked Master Baggins.

     “Orcs,” answered Kíli with a hushed tone.

     “Orcs?” the Hobbit repeated, and both Thorin and Frerin jumped up, and Gandalf put down his pipe. If there were Orcs this close to the Company...

     “Throat cutters,” said Fíli and pointed to the distance with his pipe. “There’ll be dozens of them out there. The Lone-Lands are crawling with them.”

     “They strike in the wee small hours when everyone’s asleep,” Kíli continued. “Quick and quiet, no screams. Just lots of blood.”

     Yes, thank you, now shut up, Thorin internally growled at his nephews while eyeing his younger brother. Frerin had curled into a ball, clutching his quilt, and breathed more heavily than normally, though trying to cover it. Oh dear, he was not having another Ajbâlazgh of Azanulbizar, was he? And then Fíli and Kíli even had the nerve to laugh!

     “Do you think that’s funny?” asked Thorin, and Fíli and Kíli looked at him aghast. “You think a night raid by Orcs is a joke?”

     “We didn’t mean anything by it,” answered Kíli, looking down in shame. Fíli, in turn, bit his lip and looked at Frerin, realising too late what mistake they had made.

     “No, you didn’t,” Thorin scoffed and walked off. “You know nothing of the world.”

     Thorin knew his words were harsh, but the siblings had to learn this wasn’t like their hunting trips near their home in Ered Luin. They were bound to face much fouler creatures than huge vipers or wolves or even bears. Chances were they’d eventually run into Orcs and that was the furthest thing from a laughing matter. Thorin wasn’t hard on Fíli and Kíli out of spite; he was hard on them because he wanted them to be prepared for whatever may come, or at least that’s what he kept telling himself. He knew they knew how to fight but they hadn’t been to a real battle yet, they were still young and reckless, and ignorant of what lay ahead. With any luck the dragon was dead but they were still putting their life in a risk. The journey through Middle-Earth would be long and perilous.

     Thorin vaguely heard how Balin began to tell the tale of the battle of Azanulbizar to the youngsters and Master Baggins. Fíli and Kíli weren’t even born when it took place; they never got to meet their grandfather or great-grandfather.  And then Thorin remembered how Frerin almost didn’t live to see their sister-children. Balin was just telling about Azog the Defiler and how he beheaded Thrór. Thorin was sure he deliberately left out the part where Frerin rushed to challenge the Pale Orc and was almost killed in the process. Thorin would never forget the sight of his little brother lying on the ground, face bloodied and right leg in a weird angle. No doubt it would haunt him in his nightmares until the end of his days.

     Balin proceeded with the story and more old memories flowed into Thorin’s mind. How he picked up the oaken branch to defend himself, the branch he still carried as a reminder of what was lost that day, how he cut off the Pale Orc’s arm, and lastly how their forces rallied and they drove the Orcs away. But as Balin said, there had been no song or feast that night. Their dead were beyond the count of grief; Thorin had lost both his father and grandfather, and nearly lost his only brother, too. There were times Frerin got on his nerves very badly, but Thorin was not able to imagine a life without him.

     Thorin turned around to return to his original post when he saw how the whole Company was up and staring at him in reverence. Well, except from Frerin who was still curled into a ball with his arms wrapped around his knees. Fíli was sitting next to him and even though he had his eyes on Thorin he was still holding Frerin’s hand. Thorin didn’t know whether to feel happy or sad about it; Frerin had always been Fíli’s favourite uncle.

     “And – the Pale Orc?” asked Master Baggins. “What happened to him?”

     “He slunk back into the hole whence he came,” answered Thorin with disgust. “That filth died of his wounds long ago.”

     Thorin felt how everyone’s eyes were still on him when he settled down to sleep. Only he wasn’t sure if he could sleep now. All those old memories had kept him awake for many a night and it seemed like this night wouldn’t be an exception. After a short while Bombur started to snore again – a sure fire proof everyone else was asleep too. Thorin sighed before he heard steps and almost pulled out a knife he had hidden in his boot.

     “It’s just me,” whispered Frerin. “Can I sleep with you tonight?”

     “... yes, all right,” Thorin groaned. “Get in here. But try not to steal my covers this time.”

     Frerin grinned, obviously cheered up, and settled down next to his older brother. “This time? When have I ever stolen your covers?”

     “You did that a lot when we were children,” reminded Thorin.

     “Oh yeah,” said Frerin with a light tone. “Happy times.”

     Thorin snorted and turned around. Frerin really better not steal his covers this time or he would actually give him a proper scolding like their mother used to when Frerin had been naughty (and it had happened often). Thorin felt how Frerin turned around as well and put his arm around him, much like so many nights in Erebor when they were children.

     “What are you doing?” asked Thorin.

     “I’m cold, Thorin,” answered Frerin, and suddenly sounded like the frightened boy at Azanulbizar that he used to be. “And scared, too.”

     Thorin sighed and turned around to hold his little brother. He would’ve never admitted it to Frerin but he was scared too. There was so much at stake but at the same time he knew they had to do this. They finally had a chance to carry out their dream of reclaiming their homeland. They couldn’t turn back, not now.

     It didn’t take long until Frerin was asleep and positively drooling against Thorin’s shoulder. Thorin rolled his eyes at his brother but in truth he didn’t really mind. It was not the first time Frerin drooled against his shoulder and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. In addition it felt safe, familiar. And then, at last, Thorin was able to fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

When the journey went on in the next couple of days in pouring rain Bilbo quite forgot why he came on this quest in the first place. He was cold and soaking wet and his general mood wasn’t very cheerful. The only upside was that he has finally somehow got used to riding Myrtle. And he had to admit that he quite liked his pony. Myrtle wasn’t the type of pony that startled easily and her trotting is even, not to mention what a good listener she was. Bilbo had never been extremely fond of animals (he liked them well enough when they were not making a mess) but he could actually get used to taking care of Myrtle.

     What he didn’t really want to get used to was the company of Dwarves. They were loud and ill-mannered (maybe with the exceptions of Balin, Thorin and Frerin) and generally seemed to think Bilbo was ill-fitted for the quest. He didn’t argue with it but it would’ve been nice if they wouldn’t treat him like a child. He was a grown-up, respectable Hobbit, thank you very much. Especially baffled Bilbo was about Thorin. Sure, he knew from the start that the King-in-exile didn’t hold him in a very high regard but why did he have to glare at him every once in a while? Thorin had behaved like that ever since that night on the cliff when Balin told the story of Azanulbizar.

     And then there was Thorin’s younger brother, Frerin. He was an odd one if anyone asked for Bilbo’s opinion. The two brothers couldn’t have been more like the sun and the moon. Frerin, it seemed to Bilbo, was constantly in a good mood and got along with everyone in the Company. Well, granted, Bilbo was a tad biased in this matter. His first impression on Frerin was a good one (he even came to thank him for the dinner back in Bag End unlike the other Dwarves) and it hadn’t changed. Bilbo sort of liked Frerin and he was willing to admit it, but he still thought that among the Dwarves he was quite odd.

     Another Dwarf Bilbo had to admit he liked is Bofur. They had now shared some meals together and Bilbo found him very easy to like. Bofur might’ve joked in the most inappropriate times (like that time when Dori accidentally stepped on horse poop) but at least there was one person in the Company who didn’t take the quest too seriously.

     That day the rain finally stopped so they travelled for quite some time in sunlight. Then somewhere around the Trollshaws (Bilbo did not like that name one bit) Thorin halted the Company and said they were going to camp there for the night. Bilbo was incredibly grateful to dismount his pony. His backside had started aching a while ago and he needed to stretch his legs that had gone stiff.

     “Oi, Bilbo, help me get the ponies under those trees,” asked Bofur, and Bilbo was more than happy to give a hand. Just as they were ready to take the ponies to the trees Gandalf walked past them grumbling something about “insufferable Dwarves who can’t let go of their pride for one second”. Bilbo gave a glance to where Gandalf came and saw Thorin who seemed grumpy (even more so than usual). Right, they must have had a fight.

     “Is everything alright?” asked Bilbo. “Gandalf, where are you going?”

     “To seek the company of the only one around here who’s got any sense,” replied Gandalf with a malicious tone.

     “And who’s that?”

     “Myself, mister Baggins!” exclaimed Gandalf and mounted his pony. “I’ve had enough of Dwarves for one day.”

     The Wizard rode off, still mumbling something Bilbo didn’t catch but it didn’t sound like praises. Bilbo gave Balin (whose pony he was helping to take under the trees) a worrying look and asked the old Dwarf, “Is he coming back?”

     Balin shrugged. “I don’t know, laddie. Wizards come and go as they please, ‘tis common knowledge. Maybe he will when he has calmed down.”

     “Come on Bombur, we’re hungry,” they heard Thorin command. Bilbo noticed how Frerin rolled his eyes and went to compliment his brother on how nicely he handled the things once again. Then there was some arguing about Elves and finally Frerin let out a groan and exclaimed how done with Thorin he was at the moment. By the looks of it Bilbo deduced this wasn’t the first time the brothers had a fight like that. Also the exasperated look on Balin’s face told him as much.

     As the night fell Gandalf still hadn’t come back and Bilbo couldn’t help but pace up and down. Bombur had made some soup and it smelled delicious but even that didn’t calm the Hobbit’s nerves. The Dwarves on the other hand didn’t seem nervous at the least. They had taken off their coats and generally they were lazing around the ruins of an old farm house. Nori and Dwalin were engaged in arm wrestling again, Dwalin rather desperate for rematch and victory.

     “He’s been away a long time,” Bilbo told Bofur who was delivering the soup (that actually looked like stew so maybe it was a mixture of the two).

     “Who?” asked Bofur.

     “Gandalf!”

     “He’s a Wizard!” stated Bofur in a dismissing manner. “He does as he chooses. Here,” he added, handing Bilbo two bowls of the soup-stew, “do us a favour and take these to the kids.” He nodded to the woods where Fíli and Kíli were watching the ponies.

     Bilbo had nothing better to do so he took the bowls and left the Company for a while. It was quite refreshing, actually, because Thorin still hadn’t stopped glaring at him as if he were something disgusting on his boot that he couldn’t get off. Bilbo really could’ve used a break from that. Also it would’ve been nice to say hello to Myrtle.

     “Master Baggins, wait!”

     Bilbo turned around and saw Frerin running after him.

     “What is it?” he inquired. “Something wrong?”

     “Oh, no, nothing like that,” answered Frerin. “I just thought I might as well come with you to check on the kids. Besides, I needed an excuse to get away from Thorin.”

     “What happened?” Bilbo wanted to know.

     “He’s just being difficult,” sighed Frerin. “I know how much he hates Elves and I’m not judging him for it, but even I can tell we need their help at the moment. We have a map that we can’t read and apparently Lord Elrond can, so if I had to make the decision, we’d be heading to the Hidden Valley this very moment.”

     Frerin pursed his lips a bit and continued, “He’s my brother and I love him, but right now I’d still punch him.”

     “I can imagine,” replied Bilbo with a slight smile. “I don’t have siblings but I do have loads of cousins of whom I feel the same way.”

     Frerin laughed and patted Bilbo’s shoulder lightly. Then they saw Fíli and Kíli who were staring to the distance, both completely stiff as if they were scared to death. Bilbo gave Frerin a quick glance before going to the pair and asking, “What’s the matter?”

     “We’re supposed to be looking after the ponies,” answered Kíli with a touch of panic in her tone.

     “Only we’ve encountered a slight problem,” Fíli continued.

     “What do you mean?” asked Frerin. Kíli shifted her weight from one foot to another uncomfortably.

     “Well... we had seventeen,” she said, unable to look at Frerin.

     “And now there’s fifteen,” Fíli added, biting his lip.

     “WHAT?” yelled Frerin.

     Fíli and Kíli looked at each other as if to seek security and confidence from the other before Kíli told how Daisy and Bungo were missing and they couldn’t find them. Frerin groaned and muttered something that sounded very much like “you had _one_ job”.

     “Well, that is not good,” stated Bilbo nervously. “That is not good at all. Shouldn’t we tell Thorin?”

     Fíli made a dismissing noise. “No, let’s not worry him. We thought as our official burglar you might look into it.”

     “You two...” grunted Frerin with a warning tone.

     They looked around the uprooted trees and Bilbo stated that something big must have done it. Something big and possibly quite dangerous, that is. He didn’t like the looks of it at all. Yes, he knew this was going to be dangerous, but that was not going stop him from being absolutely terrified.

     “What were you two even doing that made you so distracted that you lost the ponies?” demanded Frerin. Fíli was just about to answer when he looked sideways and whispered, “Hey, there’s a light! Over here!”

     Bilbo tried not to spill the soup-stew as he followed the Dwarves. Fíli was right, there was a light in the distance – or actually quite close to them, less than fifty yards away. Then they heard loud snorting and chortling.

     “What is it?” inquired Bilbo.

     “Trolls,” answered Kíli and she and Fíli dashed further to have a closer look.

     “That’s it, I’m going to get Thorin,” huffed Frerin. “Keep an eye on them.”

     And before Bilbo even knew Frerin had disappeared and he, in turn, had no choice but to follow Fíli and Kíli. The two of them were hiding behind two willows and Bilbo was almost there when something big came at them, crushing down some trees on its way. Bilbo realised quickly that it was a troll, just like Kíli had said. And the troll was carrying two ponies beneath its arms, one of which Bilbo knew better than well.

     “He’s got Myrtle and Minty!” Bilbo hissed to Fíli and Kíli. “We have to do something!”

     Fíli and Kíli looked up to him and Kíli replied, “Yes, you should!” She snatched one of the bowls from Bilbo’s hand and continued, “Mountain trolls are slow and stupid and you’re so small! They’ll never see you! It’s perfectly safe, we’ll be right behind you!”

     Bilbo tried to mutter something that sounded like objections but the two Dwarves wouldn’t let him talk.

     “Yeah, and if you run into trouble, hoot twice like a barn owl and once like a brown owl,” Fíli instructed, taking the other soup bowl.

     “All right, hoot once like a barn owl and twice like a...” mumbled Bilbo. “Hey, are you sure this is a good id–”

     And suddenly he couldn’t see Fíli and Kíli anymore. Wonderful, all on his own against what sounded like three full-grown mountain trolls. Bilbo heard how one of them complained about them having nothing but mutton day after day. The one that had Myrtle and Minty ordered the other to quit whining. “These ain’t sheep,” he said. “These is fresh nags!”

     “But I don’ like horse,” said the third in disappointment. “I never ‘ave. Not enough fat on ‘em.”

     The trolls kept on arguing about whether-to’s and why-for’s while Bilbo tried to stay in shadows and simultaneously figure out how to get the ponies out of the fencing the biggest troll had thrown them into. The ponies neighed and whined and Bilbo had to shush them so that he wouldn’t have been revealed. The trolls paid no mind on them, thank goodness, until the third one who was a tad skinnier than the two others turned to look at them and said, “I hope you’re gonna gut these nags. I don’ like the stinky parts.”

     “Sit down!” growled the large one with an apron and a heavy iron ladle, and smacked the skinny one on the head with it.

     “I’m starving!” complained the biggest of the three. “Are we ‘aving horse tonight or what?”

     Then Bilbo noticed a knife hanging from the belt of the skinny troll. Yes, that would’ve done the trick. He let the trolls continued the bickering while he sneaked to them and tried to nick the knife. For a split second Bilbo realised this could’ve actually counted as his first burglary – but the thing was that the actual stealing turned out to be trickier than he thought, what with the trolls constantly moving. And then the skinny one even scratched his bottom. Bilbo tried not to gag at it. He shuddered and just when he almost managed to get the knife the skinny troll picked him up and sneezed all over him.

     “Aaah!” the troll screamed when he realised he was holding Bilbo on his palm. “Blimey! Bert, Bert! Look what came out of me hooter! It’s got arms and legs and everything!”

     “What is it?” asked the one called Bert. Bilbo was too terrified to even pay any mind to the fact he was covered in troll bogies. Under normal circumstances he would have noticed it and even now it did feel remarkably disgusting, having some slime all over him.

     “I dunno,” the skinny one wailed. “But I don’ like the way it squirms!”

     Then he dropped Bilbo on the ground, and leaves and dirt got stuck on him wherever he had bogies on him. Lovely. And where the hell were Fíli and Kíli? They said they’d be right behind him!

     “What are you then?” asked the largest troll. “An over-sized squirrel?”

     “I’m a burglar – uh, Hobbit,” answered Bilbo, realising it was probably the best he didn’t reveal his position in the Company.

     “A burglar-hobbit?” the skinny one repeated.

     “Can we cook him?” the large one demanded.

     “We can try!”

     The skinny one tried to get his hands on Bilbo who ducked and nearly managed to run off, but Bert blocked his way.

     “He wouldn’t make more than a mouthful, Tom,” complained Bert to the skinny one. “Not when he’s skinned and boned.”

     “Maybe there’s more burglar-hobbits ‘round these parts,” growled the large one and tried to grab Bilbo. “Might be enough for a pie!”

     Okay, time for a tactic escape, Bilbo decided in his mind and he tried, but was caught by the large troll after Tom wailed, “Get it, William!”

     “Gotcha!” exclaimed William, hanging Bilbo from his ankles, and suddenly all three of the trolls had their eyes on the poor Hobbit. “Are there any more of you little fellas lurking around where you shouldn’t?”

     “No,” answered Bilbo quickly.

     “He’s lying!” insisted Tom.

     “No I’m not!”

     “Hold his toes over the fire!” Tom prompted further and William seemed fairly pleased with the idea. “Make him squeal!”

     Bilbo didn’t catch the irony of it until later. Tom had hardly said the words when Kíli appeared from the bushes and stabbed the troll’s feet with her sword, making him squeal very loudly with a shrill tone (well, shrill for a troll, that is). Bilbo was still actually quite mad at Kíli, and her brother too for that matter, for leaving him like that but that very moment he couldn’t have been more relieved to see the young Dwarf.

     “Drop him!” Kíli ordered the trolls.

     “You wha?!” blurted William.

     Kíli waved her sword a couple of rounds before grasping it again. “I said, drop him!”

     And William did. He threw Bilbo right into Kíli’s arms. Kíli caught him quite nicely but tumbled and fell on her back on the ground. Right on that moment the other Dwarves attacked with loud battle cries and started fighting the trolls.

     And after that everything went wrong (what else was new?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul translations:  
> Ajbâlazgh = War-vision (i.e. flashback) (I credit yubiwamonogatari for this word)
> 
> Some dialogue taken from the movie The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey, or modified from it.
> 
> (btw I'm mostly using movie dialogue instead of book because I only own The Hobbit the book in Finnish)
> 
> I've never properly written about PTSD before so I hope the way I described it didn't struck as odd or disrespectful.


	3. Chapter III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trolls are a bother, another wizard is added to the madness, and Thorin has the worst Monday ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a massive writer's block and I hope posting this chapter will boost my writing^^ this chapter has the first Fíli POV of this story! It's been too long since I last wrote Fíli POV anywhere so it was a lot of fun to write.

Thorin had considered sending both his sister-children back home many times already but now he was definitely going to do it. When Frerin told him the two of them had lost two ponies and there were trolls nearby Thorin swore worse than ever before in his life. And then, when the Company was coming to check what is going on, they ran into Fíli who told he and Kíli sent the burglar to scout ahead.

     “Fíli, I beg you to give me one reason why I shouldn’t send you and your sister straight back to your mother,” groaned Thorin. Fíli opened his mouth to answer something but was interrupted by a shout that sounded like Kíli. And it also sounded like she had run into trouble. Thorin looked sternly back at his nephew and growled that they would deal with this later.

     Then the Dwarves charged the trolls. Thorin barely noted how Kíli caught the burglar from the air because he was already battling the largest of the three trolls with Frerin and Dwalin. Honestly saying he wasn’t happy with Frerin either, but that could wait until he had dealt with his stupid sister-children. _Their_ stupid sister-children to be exact. Frerin didn’t seem too happy with them either, and rightly so.

     The trolls screamed and shouted whenever one of the Dwarves cut or stung them with their weapons. The largest troll shouted something about sticking the Dwarves into sacks but Thorin paid no further heed in it. Ori took him completely by surprise by nailing the skinniest troll in the eye with his small slingshot. Maybe the young scribe had some fire underneath his polite exterior after all. All and all everything went rather well (Thorin was so immensely proud whenever Frerin cut the trolls with his axes) until he realised two of the trolls were holding Master Baggins from his limbs.

     “Bilbo!” exclaimed Kíli and tried to charge, but Thorin stopped her.

     “No!”

     “Lay down your arms!” ordered the largest troll. “Or we’ll rip his off!”

     Thorin looked at the Hobbit who was clearly scared out of his mind, and he couldn’t blame him. He pondered the choices. They could’ve charged, of course, but there was always the chance the Halfling would’ve got hurt in the process, and Mahal knew they needed their burglar hale and whole once they would reach Erebor. Thorin sighed and stuck his sword into the dirt. The rest of the Company followed his example reluctantly but they all realised they couldn’t risk the burglar’s life.

     And that was how they ended up in either tied into a spit above the fire in order to be roasted or being stuffed in coarse sacks, waiting for their turn to be roasted. Thorin tugged the strings of his sack with his teeth but didn’t get far with it, the strings were too well tied. The others complained at the trolls, asking if this was really necessary, while the trolls bickered among themselves how the Dwarves should’ve been cooked.

     “Don’t bother cooking ‘em,” said the skinniest troll whom Thorin thought the others referred as Tom. “Let’s just sit on ‘em and squash ‘em into jelly.”

     “They should be sautéed and grilled, with a sprinkle of sage,” huffed the one with the apron, Bert, as though he were a gourmet chef.

     “Hmm, that does sound nice,” mused Tom.

     “Never mind the seasoning!” growled the largest troll, William. “Dawn ain’t far away so we better hurry. I don’t fancy being turned to stone,” he added promptly, turning the spit. Frerin was tied there right next to Dwalin, which was one of the primary reasons Thorin wanted to get free. No one picked on his little brother like that, _no one_.

     Thorin tugged the ties a bit more when he suddenly heard something he was not expecting to hear.

     “Wait!” exclaimed Master Baggins and stood up in his sack. “You are making a terrible mistake!”

     “You can’t reason with them, they’re half-wits!” protested Dori, and Thorin snorted. Easy enough for him to say.

     “’Half-wits’?” repeated Bofur. “What does that make us?”

     For once Thorin actually agreed with Bofur. Oh, why was he so stupid as not to take Gandalf’s advice? They would’ve never ended up in this pickle and Frerin wouldn’t be tied up and being roasted at that very moment. Thorin cursed internally and checked that Fíli and Kíli were still on the ground with him. They were, thank Mahal. It was bad enough to watch Frerin going around and around over the fire, their sister-children couldn’t face that –

     “I meant, um, with the seasoning,” added Master Baggins.

     “What about the seasonin’?” asked Bert.

     “Well, have you smelt them? You’re going to need something a lot stronger than sage to cover up this lot,” stated Master Baggins matter-of-factly. Thorin hardly believed his own ears. He had saved the Halfling’s life and this was how he thanked him? Siding with trolls?! No one else was happy either. Even William the troll was suspicious and asked the Hobbit what he knew about cooking Dwarf. Yes, that was a valid question.

     “Shut up,” insisted Bert. “Let the, uh, flurgerburbur-hobbit talk.”

     Oh, Thorin was going to skin the Halfling when he would get his hands on him...

     “Uh, the- the secret to cooking Dwarf is, um...” stuttered Bilbo.

     “Yes? Come on,” Bert prompted.

     “It’s, uh...”

     “Tell us the secret!”

     “Yes, I am telling you!” huffed Master Baggins. “The secret is to... to skin them first!”

     That settled it then. Thorin was definitely going to skin Master Baggins once he got free. Dwalin seemed to agree, since he shouted at the Hobbit that he would not forget this, and rightly so. Even Frerin was yelling in anger, considering how well he and Master Baggins had been getting along (Thorin had nearly felt jealous when he had watched them interacting and laughing together). Bert the troll told Tom to go get a filleting knife and that was when William lost his nerves.

     “What a load of rubbish!” he snorted. “I’ve eaten plenty with their skins on. Scoff ‘em I say, boots and all!”

     Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear, this wasn’t looking good at all. Thorin tried to figure out what to do, and he looked at Balin for advice, but not even the elderly Dwarf knew what to do.

     “He’s right!” agreed Tom. “Nothing wrong with a bit o’ raw Dwarf!”

     That said he picked up poor Bombur, sack and all, and held him up above his mouth and stated how he was going to be so nice and crunchy. Thorin wanted to throw up, preferably all over the trolls.

     “No, no, not that one!” Master Baggins shrieked in terror. “He-he’s infected!”

     ... what?

     “You what?” demanded William.

     “Yes, he’s got worms in his... tubes,” replied Master Baggins faintly and Tom threw Bombur down on Kíli and Óin in disgust. “In-in fact they all have. They’re infested with parasites, it’s a terrible business. I wouldn’t risk it, I really wouldn’t.”

     Hang on, was the Hobbit trying to buy them time? Thorin wasn’t sure, but if he were, it wasn’t working very well because the others started to yell their protests, loudly.

     “We don’t have parasites!” yelled Kíli. “You have parasites!”

     Yes, thank you, Kíli, you are not thirty, act your age. Then for Thorin’s surprise even Frerin shouted how he’d never even had fleas and how this was a grave insult to any self-respecting Dwarf. Thorin groaned to himself and saw how Bilbo did the same, so he kicked Kíli as hard as he dared. The protests ceased and both Kíli and Óin looked first at him and then at each other.

     “I’ve got parasites as big as my arm!” announced Óin.

     “Mine are the biggest parasites, I’ve got huge parasites!” Kíli added, and gradually all the Dwarves joined in convincing the trolls how they were badly infected and no good for eating at all.

     “We have such enormous parasites you’d get a tumour if you ate us!” exclaimed Frerin. It was a tad excessive but Frerin was like that.

     It was a shame that the trolls didn’t seem to take the hint.

     “What would you have us do then?” asked William. “Let ‘em all go?”

     Master Baggins shrugged. “Well…”

     “You think I don’t know what you’re up to!” William accused, poking Master Baggins with his big finger. “This little ferret is taking us for fools!”

     “Ferret?” repeated Master Baggins and sounded quite offended, at least to Thorin.

     “Fools?” demanded Bert.

     “ _The dawn will take you all!_ ” someone shouted out of the blue and everyone turned to look at the opposite direction from where the Dwarves lay in their sacks. It was Gandalf!

     “Who’s that?” asked William.

     “No idea,” replied Bert.

     “Can we eat ‘im too?” wondered Tom.

     And then Gandalf struck his staff into the big rock he was standing on and broke it in half, letting the first beams of sunrise come through. The three trolls wailed but the light mercilessly turned them into stone.

     Everyone was so shocked it took them a couple of seconds to start cheering. Even Thorin cracked a smile while everyone else laughed. Dwalin complained a little, wanting to get down at last. Gandalf helped the Dwarves on the ground off their sacks and they in turn helped to get the ones tied to the spit down.

     Once everyone was free they started to collect their weapons and clothes. It was a miracle the weapons were left intact. Thorin put on his fur coat and picked up his sword before he went to confront Gandalf.

     “Where did you go if I may ask?” he asked from the Wizard.

     “To look ahead,” answered Gandalf, and he clearly had something else to tell, only he wouldn’t.

     “And what brought you back?”

     “Looking behind.” Thorin nodded and knew he wouldn’t get anything else from Gandalf, so he decided to leave it at that. “Dreadful business. Still, they’re all in one piece,” stated Gandalf with a smile.

     “No thanks to your burglar,” grunted Thorin.

     “At least he understood to play for time,” huffed Gandalf. “None of the rest of you thought of that.”

     Well, that was true. No one had thought of play for time, except the Hobbit. Evidently he was smarter than Thorin had thought – and braver too, to fool three enormous trolls like that. And to be quite honest Thorin wasn’t even angry at the burglar. He was angrier with himself, for not realising this hadn’t been a safe place to camp, and for putting what was left of his family in danger like that.

     “They must have come down from Ettenmoors,” stated Gandalf, giving one of the stone trolls one more pat with his staff.

     “Since when do mountain trolls venture this far south?” wondered Thorin. Usually trolls preferred the long darkness of the North.

     “Oh, not for an age,” replied Gandalf. “Not since a darker power ruled these lands.”

     Thorin didn’t like the sound of that at all. A darker power, whatever it was, the mere sound of it made chills run down his spine and he couldn’t tell why. He bit his lip while Gandalf pondered the matter and eventually stated that the trolls couldn’t have moved in daylight.

     “There must be a cave nearby,” Thorin deduced and called upon his brother and Dwalin. They were going to find that cave. Gradually the whole Company joined the process, even Master Baggins, albeit he seemed quite reluctant (maybe it was due the fact his coat was covered in troll bogies). After the whole ordeal with the trolls Thorin couldn’t find it in his heart to judge him.

     Ill-fitted for the quest Master Baggins was, there was no denying it, but Thorin was beginning to suspect Gandalf had been right and there was more to him that the appearances suggested. He was rather smart, though it wasn’t especially a miracle to be able to outsmart three trolls – but Thorin did appreciate the fact that Master Baggins had done it under a lot of pressure. Not many were able to do that, not even Dwarves who were created to endure both physically and mentally.

     The cave wasn’t hard to find. The foul stench gave it away all too easily. Frerin was bothered by it so much that he said he’d stay outside. Thorin let him and asked him to keep an eye on Fíli and Kíli. Then he went down into the cave with Gandalf, Balin, Bofur, Glóin and Nori.

     “Ugh, what’s that smell?” Nori gagged. “Awful!”

     “It’s a troll hoard,” said Gandalf. Thorin covered his nose and tried to breathe through his mouth. The smell truly was overbearing, it was like a mixture of sweat and decay. Gandalf even stated they ought to be careful what they touched, and Thorin agreed. Who knew what the trolls had been hoarding here?

     Bofur, Glóin and Nori instantly noticed a pile of gold lying on the ground, and by Glóin’s order Nori left for a moment to find a shovel. Thorin and Dwalin shared a long-suffering glance before something caught Thorin’s eye. Hilts, plenty of them. Thorin put his torch on the ground and pulled two of the swords up. They were too intricate to be made by any trolls, that much was clear, even though they were covered in cobwebs and soot.

     “These swords aren’t made by trolls,” he stated to Gandalf, handing the longer one of the swords over to him.

     Gandalf examined the weapon. “Nor were they made by any smiths of Men.” He blew some of the cobwebs away and breathed. “These were forged in Gondolin, by the High Elves of the West.”

     Ugh, Elven swords, and Thorin had touched one! He grimaced and was going to put it away when Gandalf snapped, “You could not wish for a finer blade!”

     Oh, fine then, one look couldn’t hurt. Thorin pulled the sword out of its scabbard and – well, he was impressed. For an Elvish blade it looked lethal but also oddly beautiful. It was single-edged with several runes inscribed to it (Elvish of course), and the hilt was made of a fang that looked an awful lot like a dragon’s.

     Thorin pulled up his torch to study the sword better. With one ear he vaguely heard Dwalin grunting and Glóin insisting he, Bofur and Nori were making a long-term deposit. Thorin didn’t see Dwalin rolling his eyes but he could sense it.

     In the end Thorin decided to take the sword. It was a fine weapon after all, and it would’ve been a shame to just leave it there in a troll hoard.

     “Come on, let’s leave this foul place,” he said. “Bofur, Glóin, Nori!”

     The trio followed him and Dwalin back to the sunlight.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo raised an eyebrow at Gandalf when the Wizard got back from the troll hoard and passed him a small sword – or a dagger it was, but for a Hobbit it could’ve been a sword.

     “Here,” said Gandalf. “It should be about your size.”

     Bilbo made a face at the weapon. “Gandalf, I can’t take this.”

     “The blade is of Elvish make, which means it will glow blue when Orcs or Goblins are nearby.” Bilbo wasn’t sure if Gandalf was trying to prove a point or trying to sell the sword to him.

     “But I’ve never used a sword in my life!” he argued.

     Gandalf smiled a bit. “And I certainly hope you never have to. But if you do, remember this: true courage is about knowing not when to take a life, but when to spare one.”

     That didn’t especially make Bilbo feel more confident about carrying a weapon. He opened his mouth to object, but was interrupted by Thorin’s shout.

     “Something’s coming!”

     Well wasn’t that just his luck. Gandalf pulled out his new sword (remarkably longer than anyone else’s in the Company) and commanded them, “Stay together! Hurry now! Arm yourselves!”

     Bilbo huffed to himself, pulled the small sword from its scabbard and hurried after the Dwarves.

     Whatever Bilbo had expected to see, it certainly wasn’t a Wizard in a sleigh pulled by giant rabbits, yelling, “Thieves! Fire! Murder!”

     Bilbo noticed how Gandalf relaxed significantly and put his sword away.

     “Oh, it’s Radagast!” he announced. “Radagast the Brown!”

     Bilbo raised an eyebrow. This was Radagast the Brown, the Wizard Gandalf had talked about that one rainy day? Bilbo had fully expected Radagast to be a little cuckoo, but the sleigh pulled by giant rabbits? That he wouldn’t have even dreamed of in a thousand years.

     “What on earth are you doing here?” Gandalf asked from Radagast who was twitching his hands.

     “I was looking for you, Gandalf!” replied Radagast, still fidgeting. “Something’s wrong! Something’s terribly wrong!”

     “Yes?”

     Radagast was about to answer but had apparently forgotten what he was about to say. He whined how he had a thought and how it had been right there on the tip of his tongue.

     Just when Bilbo thought the whole situation wasn’t going to get any weirder Radagast exclaimed, “Oh! It wasn’t a thought at all! It’s a silly old–” Gandalf picked something from the Brown Wizard’s mouth “– stick insect.”

      Bilbo was very much ready to throw up at that. Who in their right mind had a live stick insect in their mouth?

 

* * *

 

Fíli had no idea what to make of Radagast the Brown. On one hand he knew not to underestimate Wizards but on the other Radagast was easily the strangest person he had ever met, even without the rabbit-pulled sleigh and the stick insect in his mouth. Well, since he was a friend of Gandalf’s Fíli decided that the best bet was to trust Radagast, as odd as he was.

     While Gandalf and Radagast were talking about something some yards away from the Company Fíli sat next to his sister who was sharpening her arrows.

     “Are you all right?” he asked. “Those trolls didn’t hurt you or anything?”

     “No,” answered Kíli. “Well, they did hurt my pride a little but other than that I’m fine. You?”

     “I’m fine,” assured Fíli. “But I do think we owe Master Baggins an apology.”

     Kíli made a face. “Yeah, you’re right. It was a bit mean what we did.” She put her arrows back to the quiver and got up. Fíli followed her and together they went to Master Baggins who was studying his new dagger (although on him it actually did look like a sword). Fili was twitching his braids and Kíli bit her lip.

     Master Baggins looked up from his sword at them. “Yes?”

     “We wanted to apologise to you, Master Baggins,” said Fíli. “We didn’t think our plan all the way through when we left you alone with the trolls, and we understand it was wrong of us.”

     Kíli nodded next to her brother. “We’re so sorry about the trouble we caused you.”

     Then they bowed simultaneously and exclaimed, “Please forgive us!”

     Fíli could hear Uncle Frerin snort a laugh, but Master Baggins didn’t laugh or anything.

     “I forgive you two,” he said to the siblings’ relief. “But please don’t do anything like that to me again.”

    Fíli and Kíli swore on the name of Durin that they would never let Master Baggins from their sight in a similar situation again. Now that got a little laugh out of their burglar.

     “You don’t have to keep that close an eye on me, lads,” he chuckled.

     Kíli huffed. “There’s only one lad here and that’s my brother.”

     Master Baggins stared at her. “You mean… You’re a girl?”

     Kíli rolled her eyes at that and Fíli bit back a snort of laugh. “A woman,” she corrected.

     Master Baggins’ eyes became round as coins, and Fíli considered sticking his fist into his mouth so he wouldn’t laugh.

     “Oh my – I’m so sorry, Kíli, I had no idea!” exclaimed the poor burglar.

     Kíli just shrugged. “Ah, well, it’s not the first time someone’s made that mistake. Apparently it’s the beard. I forgive you, Master Boggins.”

     Master Baggins made a face. “It’s Baggins, not Boggins. And while we’re at it, just call me Bilbo, both of you.”

     Huh, Fíli certainly didn’t expect that, given how pedantic Hobbits seemed to be about manners (or so he’d gathered), but he wasn’t going to complain. After all, it was a lot easier to say “Bilbo” than “Master Baggins”. And maybe now also Kíli would get his name right.

     Fíli was about to thank Bilbo but he was cut off by a howl. But there weren’t any wolves in this area, wolves resided further north–

     “Was that a wolf?” asked Bilbo, sounding startled. “Are there wolves out there?”

     Bofur, who was standing near them, shook his head. “No, that is not a wolf.”

     They heard a growl coming from behind them and had hardly turned around when a Warg jumped at them. Fíli grabbed his swords, but Thorin reached the beast first and swiftly ran his new sword through it. Another Warg tried to attack him from behind.

     “Kíli! Get your bow!” shouted Dwalin, and Kíli did as she was told. Dwalin finished the job by smacking his axe in the Warg’s skull.

     “Warg scouts!” barked Thorin. “Which means an Orc pack is not far behind!”

     Frerin stiffened at those words, and Bilbo snapped, “Orc pack?!”

     Gandalf approached Thorin. “Who did you tell about this quest beyond your kin?”

     “No one,” replied Thorin.

     “Who did you tell?!” yelled Gandalf.

     “No one, I swear!” Thorin frowned at the Wizard. “What in Durin’s name is going on?”

     Fíli stared at both his uncles when Gandalf told them that they were being hunted. Sure, he had been on many hunting trips, but never before had he himself been hunted.

     “We have to get out of here,” said Dwalin.

     “We can’t!” Ori told them. “We have no ponies! They’ve bolted!”

     That was it then. They hadn’t even reached the Misty Mountains and this is where they were going to meet their end. Not exactly what Fíli had expected, even if he had known that anyone of them could die at any point of the quest.

     “I’ll draw them off!” announced Radagast out of the blue. Everyone stared at him.

     “These are Gundabad Wargs!” said Gandalf. “They will outrun you!”

     “These are Rhosgobel Rabbits!” Radagast paused and Fíli could feel everyone holding their breaths. “I’d like to see them try.”

 

* * *

 

Thorin had no idea what day it was, but if he had to take a wild guess, he would’ve said Monday. The worst Monday ever, as a matter of fact. First the whole Company had been captured and almost eaten by trolls and now they were being hunted by Orcs and Wargs. Yes, definitely the worst Monday in the history. Thorin glanced quickly at Frerin, in case he needed help, but judging from his brother’s swearing he didn’t need any. Well, at least that was positive, that Frerin wasn’t suffering from Ajbâlazgh right now.

     Thorin snapped out of his thoughts and grabbed Ori from his hood just in time before the lad ran right at Radagast and the Warg-riders chasing him.

     “Ori no! Get back!”

     They had to turn around again. Gandalf was leading them somewhere but wouldn’t tell where when Thorin asked about it – not very reassuring, but Thorin let it drop. This was not the time and place for arguing, he could do it later. Well, assuming they’d manage to escape from the Warg-riders, that is.

     The Company hid behind a large grass-covered boulder to take a breather – and then they heard heavy steps land on it. A lone Warg-rider holding a long, crude sword was standing there astride his Warg, sniffing the air. Thorin didn’t have to look at Frerin next to him to know that he had stiffened, so he looked at Kíli on his other side and nodded. Kíli bit her lip, pulled an arrow out of her quiver and took a deep breath before she stepped out and shot.

     Thorin looked up. Kíli had hit the Warg but hadn’t managed to kill it. She shot again just before the Orc could blow into his horn, and that shot made the Orc and the Warg fall off the boulder. Dwalin and Bifur charged, Thorin following right behind them.

     Bifur and Dwalin were now stabbing the Warg while Thorin finished off the Orc, and that was when Gandalf commanded them to run again. Thorin sighed to himself before following the rest of the group with Bifur.

     The Orc pack was gaining on them. Glóin pointed at two Orcs coming from their north, and yelled, “There they are!”

     “There’s more coming!” shrieked Kíli from the opposite direction.

     Thorin glanced quickly at Frerin who, much to Thorin’s relief, had now pulled out his battle axes, and then shouted, “Kíli, shoot them!”

     “I don’t have an endless amount of arrows, Uncle!” snapped Kíli, but pulled an arrow out of her quiver anyway and settled it on the bowstring. Thorin watched her take aim and soon enough one of the Orcs fell. The joy from that was short-lived as Fíli shouted, “We’re surrounded!”

    As if that wasn’t bad enough, Gandalf was suddenly nowhere to be seen. Thorin sighed again. The Valar clearly had something against him, otherwise they surely wouldn’t have encountered all this trouble so soon into the quest.

     “Hold your ground!” Thorin pulled out his new sword – it glowed in faint blue in the sunlight. He saw Ori flinging a rock at a Warg from his slingshot but it wasn’t very effective. The Warg hardly even flinched. The whole pack was closing in on the Company–

     And that was when Gandalf reappeared from behind some large rocks near them.

     “This way, you fools!” he commanded. The Company didn’t have to be told twice – well, aside from Kíli who still kept shooting arrows at the Orc pack, evidently to give the others time to get into safety. Thorin himself killed one Warg that tried to attack them while he was making sure everyone made it safely into the cavern where Gandalf was.

     When everyone else was in the cavern or near, Thorin shouted, “Kíli! Run!”

     Frerin was already in the cavern so besides Thorin himself, Fíli and Kíli were the last ones to jump in. Gandalf had apparently been counting them because he said, “And Thorin makes fourteen. Good.” Thorin paid no more heed because he was prepared to gut any Orc that might’ve followed but instead–

     “That’s not an Orc horn,” said Frerin as they heard the loud sound of a horn somewhere very close by. Thorin wasn’t sure if he liked the smirk on Gandalf’s face. It couldn’t have promised anything good, though at that moment anything was better than an Orc pack.

     They heard several yells, swords slashing, and arrows flying and a few moments later a body of an Orc rolled down into the cavern. Gandalf poked at it with his staff to prove that it was, in fact, dead. Something was sticking out of its neck, so Thorin leaned down to pull it out. It was an arrow, and not just any. It was small and refined, so there was no mistaking its maker.

     “Elves,” growled Thorin, disgusted, and threw the arrow on the ground. He met Gandalf’s gaze for a short moment before looking away. He was done with the Wizard judging his hatred for the pointy-eared tree-shaggers. They could talk about it again when Gandalf lost his home, begged for the Elves to help, and received none. Until then he had no right to judge.

     “I don’t see where this path leads!” shouted Dwalin. “Do we follow it or not?”

     “Follow it, of course!” answered Bofur, and true enough, the Company started to walk away from the mouth of the cavern, deeper into the cave. Thorin had a nasty feeling in his stomach about this but since everyone was going… He briefly heard Gandalf saying something like, “I think that would be wise”, but again he paid no heed. As long as the Company would be safe, Thorin wasn’t going to complain.

     Well, at least not much, anyway.

     Thorin wasn’t sure how long the narrow pathway was but it turned open from the top because at some point he could see the sun shining. They had walked for some time when he felt something in the air, something a bit unsettling in all its peacefulness, but he couldn’t put a name on it until Master Baggins asked about it.

     “Do you feel it too?” asked Gandalf with a smile.

     “Yes, it feels like… well, it feels like magic,” said Master Baggins. Oh, so that’s what it was, explained a great deal why it made Thorin so anxious. He had little trust for magic.

     “That’s exactly what it is,” stated Gandalf, and it didn’t especially make Thorin feel any better.

     “There’s light ahead!” announced Dwalin, still leading the group through the pathway, and everyone hurried to the clearing. The first they saw was a waterfall, then some trees, a bridge, and finally – Thorin thrust his battle axe on the stone floor – a beautiful set of houses surrounded by mountains and a river flowing under it. The air was filled with magic and light, and Thorin was sure he would’ve liked it if it weren’t the one place he didn’t want to be in.

     “The Valley of Imladris,” said Gandalf to the Company. “In the Common Tongue it is known by another name.”

     “Rivendell,” Thorin heard Master Baggins say, not especially to anyone. He rolled his eyes. So Master Baggins had heard of this damn place but not of the dragon that had attacked Erebor? Typical.

     “Here lies the Last Homely House East of the Sea,” Gandalf continued, obviously delighted someone knew where they were.

     Thorin walked back up the stone stairs and glared at Gandalf. “This was your plan all along,” he accused the Wizard who didn’t seem too guilty. “To seek refuge with our enemy.”

     Frerin groaned next to him, and Thorin elbowed him into his arm.

     “You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield,” said Gandalf, sounding impatient. “The only ill-will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself.”

     Thorin grimaced. “Do you think the Elves will give our quest their blessing? They will try to stop us.”

     Thorin said this partly to Frerin as well as he had opened his mouth, probably to protest. Fíli and Kíli had also turned their heads at them, both frowning a bit.

     Gandalf remained unfazed. “Of course they will! But we have questions that need to be answered.”

     Now it was Thorin’s turn to open his mouth, only to realise that Gandalf was right. They had a map that they couldn’t read, and evidently this Lord Elrond of Rivendell could. Oh how Thorin hated to be wrong, but there was no helping it. They’d ask for advice, use the toilets, and then leave the place.

     Gandalf made a small huff. “If we are to be successful, this will need to be handled with tact. And respect. And no small degree of charm.”

     Frerin snorted a laugh, and Thorin rolled his eyes. That in turn made Fíli and Kíli giggle.

     “Which is why you will leave the talking to me,” finished Gandalf, ignoring the three giggling Dwarves.

     Now why wasn’t Thorin surprised?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul translations:  
> Ajbâlazgh = war-vision (forever thankful for yubiwamonogatari for this one)
> 
> Some dialogue is taken from The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey.
> 
> The Warg chase was a real pain in the ass to write. I finally understand how the actors felt while filming it.


	4. Chapter IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kíli experiences sexual awakening, Thorin is done with everyone's shit, Dwarves have very peculiar customs, and Bilbo doesn't know what to make of any of it. Also there are fireflies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ABOUT FREAKING TIME
> 
> I don't know why I had such a ginormous writer's block, but the important thing is that I finished this chapter, woo!!! I'll try to get chapter V done faster^^
> 
> also first Kíli pov!
> 
> as always, big thanks to my awesome beta, [Tayla](http://dragonbilbo.tumblr.com/) ♥

Of course Kíli had heard of Rivendell, but almost always just in passing, and never had she thought she’d get to see the place with her own eyes. Yet here they were, and while Kíli did prefer mountains she couldn’t deny that the valley was even more beautiful than she had imagined. And it was so peaceful there. Kíli kept this thought to herself, but she wouldn’t have minded staying there for a while.

     The Company descended the stones that made something of a stairway into a stone bridge (phyllite by the looks of it) across the river running what seemed like a mile beneath them. The bridge led to a landing that evidently served as an atrium to the rest of the house – although house was an understatement. Rivendell was big enough to be called a small village.

     They gathered in the atrium and looked around. Kíli noticed how airy the buildings looked – they clearly hadn’t been designed to bear cold, so maybe Rivendell didn’t have harsh winters. Anyway, Kíli thought they were even more stunning up close than they had been from the tunnel’s opening. She also noted how much nature there was everywhere. The buildings looked like they were built around all the trees and waterfalls, so that there would be no disturbing them.

     “Mithrandir!” someone called, and Kíli turned around to look (along with the rest of the Company). It was an Elf, the first one Kíli had ever seen. They had long brown hair, a circlet around their brow, and bluish purple robes. Kíli looked away. Wow, the Elf was very attractive, she thought, and briefly considered slapping herself in the face. This was not the time to have infatuation panic, no matter how pretty the Elf was.

     “Ah, Lindir!” exclaimed Gandalf, and Kíli could’ve sworn she heard Uncle Thorin whisper to Dwalin, _“We use the toilets and then leave.”_

     The Elf Lindir said something to Gandalf in Elvish, to which Gandalf replied in Westron, “I must speak with Lord Elrond.”

     “My lord Elrond is not here,” said Lindir.

     Gandalf frowned. “Not here? Where is he then?”

     Lindir was about to answer but was cut off by the sound of the same horn they had heard while in the cave. Very soon after a troop of Elves on horses appeared, riding right at the Company.

     “Close ranks!” shouted Thorin, and the Dwarves huddled together. Bofur pulled Bilbo in the middle of the huddle, and Dwalin pushed Ori back, away from the horses’ hooves. After the initial shock, however, it turned out that the Elves weren’t hostile.

     “Gandalf!” exclaimed their leader, a brown-haired Elf lord much like Lindir, but he seemed older and nobler somehow, at least to Kíli.

     “Lord Elrond,” smiled Gandalf (well no wonder he seemed noble, thought Kíli) and then he switched to Elvish, as did Lord Elrond.

     Lord Elrond dismounted, briefly embraced Gandalf (Kíli noted how Uncle Thorin rolled his eyes) and then said in Westron, “Strange for Orcs to come so near our borders. Something, or some _one_ , must’ve drawn them near.”

     “Ah, that may have been us,” said Gandalf sheepishly and gestured Thorin to step forward, which he did, though a tad gingerly.

     Thorin and Lord Elrond eyed each other for a moment before Elrond said, “Welcome Thorin, son of Thráin.”

     “I do not believe we have met,” said Thorin.

     “You have your grandfather’s bearing.” Kíli noted from the corner of her eye that Frerin stiffened next to her. Lord Elrond probably hadn’t seen him. “I knew Thrór when he ruled under the Mountain.”

     “Indeed? He made no mention of you.”

     Ouch, that’s rude, thought Kíli, and when Elrond’s expression tightened she was, for a moment, sure something bad was going to happen. But no, he just said something in Elvish, and Kíli wasn’t sure if she liked the sound of it.

     “What is he saying?” demanded Glóin. “Does he offer us insult?!”

     The Company’s angry shouts were cut short when Gandalf said in a long-suffering tone, “No, Master Glóin, he is offering you _food_!”

     Oh. Well, that was good then. Kíli joined the short negotiation the Company had about the matter (“Well, we are starving, let’s take the offer.” “Aye, and after all Lord Elrond probably doesn’t have strong connections to Thranduil, does he?”) before they agreed on it and Glóin grumbled, “Ah. Well, in that case, lead on.”

     Lindir (very unwillingly, from what Kíli could deduce from their face) led them up the stairs to a small waiting room where they could drop their biggest packages, and from there to the dining room, which was actually outside on another landing. There were three tables, one bigger and two that were Dwarf sized, and Kíli had a vague feeling the Elves used them as tea tables. One of the Elves who already were there was setting up the tables and three others were tuning their instruments.

     The Company sat down – Kíli was sat in between Bifur and Bofur, and the other four in her table were Uncle Frerin, Dwalin, Nori, and Óin – and their faces strained when they saw the food that was served. Dwalin picked up the leaves in his bowl and asked, “Where’s the meat?”

     “I don’t think they’ll serve us meat,” winced Uncle Frerin.

     Yes, the meal was a disappointment. Kíli picked on a bean in her bowl and wondered if it even was edible. She heard how in the other table Dori tried to make Ori try the food at least a little and how Ori said he didn’t like green food (and asked if they had any chips). Well, they agreed on that. Green food was icky, and chips would’ve been nice.

     Kíli made a face and pushed her bowl a bit further from her. She didn’t feel like eating it even a little. And there wasn’t even any gravy anywhere, the only thing that might’ve made the meal edible. She looked up and–

     –met the eyes of the Elf maid (judging from the colours of her dress, they were softer than those of the robes of Lord Elrond and Lindir) who played a harp. Wow, she was even more beautiful than Lindir. Kíli felt blush rising on her cheeks but even so she managed to smile at the Elf maid and give her a quick wink.

     Which evidently both Uncle Frerin and Dwalin saw, because they were very unimpressed indeed. Right, time for damage control.

     “I can’t say I fancy Elf maids myself,” said Kíli, aiming to sound nonchalant. “Too thin. They’re all high cheekbones and creamy skin. Not enough facial hair for me. Although,” she added, glancing at another Elf who was playing a lyre, “that one there’s not bad.”

     Frerin snorted and Dwalin leaned in to whisper, “That’s not an Elf maid.”

     Wait what? Kíli looked at the Elf again and, well, it did appear that Dwalin and Uncle Frerin were right. But honestly, who could tell about Elves? They didn’t even sport braids to identify which pronouns they preferred. And then the entire Company, even those in the other table, saw it fit to laugh at this mistake.

     Kíli rolled her eyes. “That’s funny.”

     It was not funny, but Kíli knew it would only get worse if she got angry. So instead she grabbed her bowl and started to eat the leaves and beans. After all, not eating would be impolite, and she _was_ a princess, she might as well act like one. Plus there was some berry pie for dessert, and it looked – actually very delicious.

     The dinner went on in a relative silence for a while, up until Nori turned to the Elf (whose gender Kíli wouldn’t even bother to guess because she’d most likely get it wrong) playing flute behind him and snapped, “Change the tune, why don’t you? I feel like I’m in a funeral!”

     Óin, who had stuck some napkins in his ear trumpet earlier on, startled. “Did somebody die?”

     Bofur shook his head. “Alrigh’, lads, there’s only one thing for it.” And then he got up and climbed on a small granite stand in the middle of the landing, getting everyone’s attention aside from Gandalf and Elrond. Until he started to sing and dance.

 

     _“There's an inn, there's an inn, there's a merry old inn_  
     _beneath an old grey hill,_  
_And there they brew a beer so brown_  
_That the Man in the Moon himself came down_  
_one night to drink his fill”_

The other Dwarves, Kíli included, because why not, started to throw food around and sing along. Even Uncle Thorin sang and thumped his feet along the rhythm, which sure was a surprise.

 

 _“The ostler has a tipsy cat_  
     _that plays a five-stringed fiddle;_  
_And up and down he saws his bow_  
_Now squeaking high, now purring low,_  
_now sawing in the middle._  
  
_So the cat on the fiddle played hey-diddle-diddle,_  
_a jig that would wake the dead:_  
_He squeaked and sawed and quickened the tune,_  
_While the landlord shook the Man in the Moon:_  
_‘It’s after three!’ he said.”_

At the end of the song Kíli grabbed one of the strange pasty vegetable dumplings, threw it at Lindir, and got a good laugh from their horrified expression.

 

* * *

 

After the Company had settled down Gandalf summoned Thorin and Balin – and Master Baggins, to everyone’s surprise – to a meeting with Lord Elrond. Thorin made a face at his new sword, Orcrist, as Lord Elrond had called it. Well, since the Elf lord allowed him to carry it, it would only be courteous to show him the map, but at the same time Thorin hesitated. What would his father and grandfather have said if he showed this invaluable heirloom to an outsider, who was an Elf no less?

     “Well, the fact is that we have no idea how to read that map,” said Frerin, who had agreed to stay behind and make sure everyone behaved at least somewhat decently, “and Gandalf did say that Elrond might be able to help.”

     “I still don’t like it,” grunted Thorin.

     Frerin patted his shoulder. “I know, I don’t like it either, but it looks like we have no choice. We need to know how to enter Erebor and we can’t do that if we can’t read the map.” He turned away to put down his battle axes. “And remember to be civil to everyone, Bilbo included.”

     Thorin rolled his eyes at his brother and left the chambers given to the Company to dwell in during their stay with Balin and Master Baggins.

     The trio met Gandalf outside another chamber and went in together. Lord Elrond was already inside, and Gandalf explained the matter to him already. And that was when Thorin truly hesitated giving up the map. It was not meant for Elf eyes.

     “Our business is no concern of Elves,” he said, and Balin nodded next to him.

     Gandalf groaned. “For goodness sake, Thorin, show Lord Elrond the map!”

     Thorin glared at the Wizard. “It is the legacy of my people and thus mine to protect! As are its secrets.”

     Gandalf huffed and grumbled some curse under his breath. “Save me from the stubbornness of Dwarves! Your pride will be your downfall.” Thorin frowned and opened his mouth to object, but Gandalf wasn’t done. “You stand here in the presence of one of the few in Middle-Earth who can read that map. Now show it to Lord Elrond!”

     Thorin sighed but pulled he map out of his coat nonetheless. Balin made a small sound in protest, and Thorin could feel Master Baggins’ eyes on him, but he passed the parchment over to Lord Elrond. The Elf lord unfolded the map, took a look at it, and then looked back up with a hint of a frown on his face.

     “Erebor?” he said. “What exactly is your interest in the map?”

     Thorin was about to reply but Gandalf beat him to it.

     “Oh, it’s mainly academic,” he said with a perfectly innocent tone. “As you know, this sort of artefact sometimes contains hidden text.”

     Thorin and Gandalf glanced at each other when Elrond turned away to examine the map in the moonlight. Thorin wasn’t sure if the lie was believable in the long run, but at least it worked for now. They had to find out if there was hidden text in the map, they simply had to.

     “You still read ancient Dwarvish, do you not?” Gandalf added as Elrond turned the map in his hands.

     A moment later Elrond uttered, “ _Cirth ithil_.”

     “Moon runes?” mused Gandalf. “Of course.”

     Thorin, Balin, and Master Baggins looked at the Wizard, an eyebrow raised on each of their faces.

     “An easy thing to miss,” explained Gandalf.

     “Well, in this case it is true,” said Elrond. “Moon runes can only be read by the light of a moon of the same shape and season as the day on which they were written.”

      He turned around to look at Thorin again, and Thorin could see how intrigued he was.

     “Can you read them?” Thorin asked.

     Elrond led them on a cliff surrounded by several waterfalls. There was a single stone stand by the edge, and Thorin had to admit (gingerly, but still) that the sight was breathtaking, with the moonlight filtering through both clouds and the falling water.

     “These runes were written on a Midsummer’s Eve by the light of a crescent moon nearly two hundred years ago,” Elrond told them as he placed the map on the stand. “It would seem you were meant to come to Rivendell.”

     Thorin purposefully avoided any eye contact with Gandalf.

     “Fate is with you, Thorin Oakenshield,” continued Elrond. “The same moon shines upon us tonight.”

    And true enough, the clouds moved away and revealed a crescent moon that shone right onto the map. For a second nothing happened, but then, like magic, silvery runes started to appear on its surface, and Elrond started to read aloud.

     “Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks and the setting sun with the last light of Durin’s Day will shine upon the keyhole.”

     Thorin frowned. Already on Durin’s Day?  But that was only a few months away!

     “Durin’s Day?” asked Master Baggins.

     “It is the start of the Dwarves’ new year,” explained Gandalf, “when the last moon of autumn and the first sun of winter appear in the sky together.”

     “This is ill news,” said Thorin, filled with gnawing dread. “Summer is passing! Durin’s Day will soon be upon us!”

     “We still have time,” replied Balin who had stayed silent until now.

     “Time? For what?” asked Master Baggins, and Thorin wondered how dense he was. Wasn’t it obvious?

     “To find the entrance,” Balin told the Hobbit, and everyone else in the process. “We have to be in exactly the right spot at exactly the right time.”

     Which was easier said than done, Thorin wanted to add, but he didn’t want to state the obvious. Balin knew this, and surely Master Baggins would also figure it out. He couldn’t be _that_ dense.

     “Then, and only then, can the door be opened,” Balin concluded.

     “So this is your purpose,” said Elrond, not revealing any particular emotion with his tone, “to enter the Mountain?”

     Thorin turned to look at the Elf lord, and grunted, “What of it?”

     “There are some who would not deem it wise,” answered Elrond as he passed the map back to Thorin.

     Thorin almost felt like telling Elrond where he could stick his wisdom, but he held his tongue. Frerin had specifically told him to be polite, and Elrond had just helped them to decipher the secrets of the map. So Thorin just took the map back silently and kept his opinions to himself. No need to unnecessarily anger other people.

     “What do you mean?” asked Gandalf.

     “You are not the only guardian to stand watch over Middle-Earth,” said Elrond before he left the cliff.

     Thorin did not like the sound of that at all. But the important thing was that they knew where they had to be and when. Now it was time to pass the news over to the Company.

     Everyone had already gone to sleep when Thorin, Balin, and Master Baggins returned from the meeting, except for Frerin who had made sure everyone had settled down. He sat up in his bedroll the second the trio came in.

     “So how did it go?” he asked, whispering, as not to wake Bofur, Fíli and Kíli who slept on his right.

     Thorin settled his bedroll in Frerin’s left and whispered back, “We now know how to enter Erebor but we had to reveal the quest to Lord Elrond. He disapproves.”

     Frerin made a face. “ _Tashrab_. Well, tell me the details in the morning, now I’d like to sleep while I can do so in peace.”

     Thorin chuckled and gently shoved Frerin onto his pillow.

 

* * *

 

The Company stayed in Rivendell for a while, which Bilbo didn’t mind at all. He had dreamt of seeing the Valley for a long time, and for his joy the place was everything he had pictured and more. Sure, the Dwarves didn’t seem to enjoy themselves, but Bilbo wasn’t going to let that ruin his good mood. Rivendell was such a good change from the road. At least they had soft beds and enough food.

     The Valley was located in between two mountain ranges (Misty Mountains were the bigger, in the eastern side, Bilbo was told, as if he didn’t know how to read a map himself) and had more waterfalls than Bilbo was able to count. He’d started to wander around on his own, because the Dwarves didn’t really want to leave their assigned living areas – not that he minded. Every now and then Bilbo ran into the Elves, usually Lindir, and had some of the most fascinating conversations in his life. It turned out that among his other duties Lindir took care of Rivendell’s gardens, and they shared gardening tips for several hours. Sometimes Bilbo even ran into Lord Elrond himself and had chats with him.

     Bilbo would always remember the day after the night Elrond had told him, Gandalf, Balin and Thorin about the moon runes. He’d had his very first walk around the main buildings of Rivendell, seen an old, shattered sword ceremoniously placed on a stand incorporated in a statue (marble, he’d later heard from Balin), and next to it a mural. The mural portrayed a fight between a large, armoured creature and a man with a shattered sword, most likely the exact one that was on display, Bilbo wasn’t sure. He also had no idea why he felt so drawn to it.

     Eventually Bilbo was able to pull himself away from the mural and walk to a balcony nearby, to have a breather. He didn’t hear Lord Elrond approaching until the Elf lord asked, “Not with your companions?”

     Bilbo sniffed. “Uh, no. I shan’t be missed.”

     It was true. While Balin, Frerin and Bofur were friendly enough, it was still clear they thought he was unfit for the quest. And Bilbo didn’t even want to think about the rest of them, Thorin Oakenshield least of all. Sometimes Bilbo hoped Thorin would just tell him to leave, instead of scowling all the time. It was getting tedious.

     “The truth is that most of them don’t think I should be on this journey,” Bilbo told Elrond. There was no need to voice the rest of it.

     Elrond frowned. “Indeed? I’ve heard that Hobbits are very resilient.”

     Bilbo chuckled. Resilient, really? When thinking about most of his relatives, the only three people he might have called “resilient” were his Aunt Mirabella, Grandmama Laura, and Lobelia. But when Elrond didn’t laugh, Bilbo raised an eyebrow.

     “Really?”

     Elrond hummed and nodded. “I’ve also heard they’re fond of the comforts of home.”

     Well that sounded more like the truth. Bilbo leaned in and said with a hushed tone, “Well I’ve heard that it’s unwise to seek the council of Elves. That they will answer with yes and no.”

     For a moment, seeing Elrond’s non-amused face, Bilbo thought he had unintentionally offended his host. But then the Elf lord’s face cracked into a smile, and Bilbo let out a relieved laugh.

     Elrond placed his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder and said, “You are very welcome to stay here, if that is your wish.”

     Then he took his leave, and left poor Bilbo standing on the balcony, not quite sure if he had got off the hook with his sass.

     Later that same day Bilbo found the Company at one of Rivendell’s fountains. Actually, he found them _in_ the fountain. A very fine spot to bathe in, Bilbo thought with a pinch of salt. He wouldn’t blame Lord Elrond if he were to kick them out of Rivendell for this. All the Dwarves seemed to be there, aside from Thorin (this was below his dignity, no doubt, thought Bilbo). Even Kíli was there, which Bilbo found odd. In the Shire womenfolk never bathed with the men, not even with family. And the way they were frolicking there, out in the open… Bilbo didn’t even want to picture what his father might’ve said about this.

     “Ah! Bilbo!” called Frerin, and there went Bilbo’s chance to sneak off undetected. “Come on, get in here! Water’s fine!”

     Bilbo tried to look anywhere but Frerin’s crotch when he answered. “Uh, no, thank you, I’m good.”

     Frerin made a face. “But you can’t know when you’ll get a chance to bathe after we leave.”

     “I’ll bathe later in the actual bathroom, thank you very much,” huffed Bilbo, and at that moment Fíli and Kíli yelled, “ROCK SLIDE!” and jumped into the fountain’s bottom pool. Bilbo quickly bounced off, not wanting to get wet before his real bath. He’d already been wet and miserable enough on the journey. Frerin didn’t seem to mind. He just laughed and shouted that he’d get his revenge soon enough. Fíli and Kíli stuck out their tongues, unaware that Bombur too was about to jump. Bilbo almost felt sorry for the siblings. They never saw the tidal wave coming, they only heard a loud, “BOULDER INCOMING!” from Bombur, and then it was too late.

     Bilbo and Frerin laughed at the whole thing for a good while, and it felt nice. At least someone in the Company had a sense of humour, unlike his brother, His Royal Grumpiness. Bilbo wiped tears of laughter from his eyes and then asked, as seriously as he could, “Is this fine, by the way? That Kíli bathes together with the rest of you?”

     “Of course it is,” answered Frerin, as if the whole question was stupid. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

     Bilbo had no idea how to put his words without sounding offensive, and Frerin seemed to sense it because he said, “Oh. Because she’s a woman, right?”

     “Well… yes,” admitted Bilbo.

     Frerin sighed. “We Dwarves don’t make such a big deal out of gender, not the same way other races seem to, anyway. Also, for us public bathing together like this is an important way of socialising. We do it since childhood, and no one thinks it’s strange.”

     It was impossible to argue that. Bilbo had had no idea of this particular aspect of Dwarven culture (well, up until yesterday he hadn’t even known Dwarrowdams existed; all his books suggested Dwarves just sprung out of holes in the ground). It was odd, but then again who was he to judge? Certainly his Hobbit customs seemed odd to the Company as well.

     And then Fíli, Kíli and Ori started to roll around in the grass, and Bilbo knew he had spoken too soon (so to say, since he didn’t say anything aloud). Hobbit youth tended to roll around in grass too, but at least they were fully clothed – at least most of the time.

     Frerin must’ve seen Bilbo’s frown because he explained, “It’s Midsummer magic. Rolling around in grass after bathing is for good luck in marriage.”

     Bilbo’s frown got even deeper. “You mean you get dirty again right after a bath?”

     Frerin shrugged. “If we were back home we’d go right after that to sauna, then skinny dipping, and then bathe again.”

     “But there are no saunas here!” Kíli chimed in, and Bilbo had to close his eyes. “How the Elves can even manage without a good sauna is beyond me.”

     Then she returned to roll in the grass some more, and an awkward silence fell between Bilbo and Frerin. Bilbo took a deep breath.

     “What is a sauna?” he asked.

     “It’s a hot room where you sit naked and sometimes throw water on some hot stones to make the steam even hotter,” explained Frerin. “It’s actually very enjoyable, despite how it sounds.”

      Bilbo couldn’t imagine how, but he decided to let it be. Dwarves were entitled to their strange customs. He decided to change the subject back to the Midsummer traditions.

     “So, uh, do you have any other Midsummer magic beliefs? Us Hobbits, we pick up seven or nine flowers, depending on family customs, and put them under our pillows. Supposedly it’s so you see your future spouse in your dream. Never worked with me, though.”

     Frerin seemed delighted. “Indeed? We collect seven pebbles for the same purpose. It’s always seven, for the seven firstborn Dwarves.”

     “But won’t the pebbles hurt under the pillow?”

     “We have hard heads,” stated Frerin nonchalantly and returned to the fountain after Bofur yelled something to him.

     Later that day Fíli and Kíli came to Bilbo – this time fully clothed, thankfully, Bilbo had seen far more than he had wanted at the fountain – and asked him to help them pick up flowers. Frerin had told them about the Hobbit tradition and they had wanted to try it, only they didn’t know anything about flowers. And they had to get away from Balin and Dori who, according to the siblings, were being the sappiest saps in the world and while it was usually sweet now it just felt like they were rubbing their relationship in everyone’s faces.

     Bilbo raised an eyebrow. “I had no idea Balin and Dori were an item.”

     Fíli shrugged. “Aye, well, they’re usually discreet about it. It’s not like it’s icky or anything, it just…”

     “Makes those of us without cuddle partners feel depressed,” finished Kíli while picking up a forget-me-not. “Well, aside from Nori and Bifur who’ve never showed interest in those things, but the rest of us do feel rather bummed seeing Balin and Dori braiding each other’s hair and cuddling and kissing softly and so on.”

     Bilbo hummed. He wasn’t particularly fond of public displays of affection either, but he had never cared much about romance anyway. Maybe if the right person showed up, but Bilbo was already in his fifties, and quite happy to be alone and have settled in his bachelor ways.

     Bilbo helped Fíli and Kíli pick up flowers for a good while and actually liked it. The siblings were jolly company now that they weren’t trying to get him killed, and very eager to get to know the different meanings of flowers. Judging from the flowers they chose, Fíli was looking for a steady companionship and Kíli more passionate romance.

     That had all been some days ago. They’d stayed much longer than Bilbo had anticipated, but he didn’t mind. He wanted to savour all these moments of peace and civilised company because the Green Lady only knew when he’d have them the next time.

     It was getting late, and Bilbo sat on a bench outside the Company’s quarters. The Dwarves had been bathing in the fountain again and were now chattering and eating and whatever they tended to do after bath. Bilbo sighed, relieved that he didn’t have to be there, he wasn’t feeling particularly sociable at the moment. He leaned back and looked up. Fireflies had stirred after sunset and were now flying around. It almost looked like they were dancing.

     “I used to think they were stars.”

     Bilbo jumped. Thorin sat on the bench, leaving a good gap between them, and continued, “The fireflies. When I was a child, I’d never been outside, but I’d heard of stars.”

     This was the first time during the quest that Thorin had voluntarily approached Bilbo, and he wasn’t sure how to take it. It was… rather nice, actually. The fireflies continued to buzz around them. Thorin looked at them for a while, with a distant look in his eyes.

     “Having been born inside a mountain, never having been outside, I’d never seen stars in my life,” he said with a low voice. “People had told me stories about them, how they twinkled like the most beautiful diamond. Then this one time I wandered into a cave and there were thousands of twinkling lights, more beautiful than any gem I’d seen. I was well into my youth when someone told me they were fireflies and not stars.”

     Well… that made sense to Bilbo. But why would Thorin tell him any of this? It wasn’t like they were friends or anything. Not that he minded, of course. Bilbo now found that there was more to Thorin than the grumpy exterior he always put on…

     They heard a crack and looked to the bushes some yards from them. Bilbo could see Bofur’s hat and a hint of dark blond hair in the light of the fireflies. What on earth were Bofur and Frerin doing in the bushes at this hour?

     Thorin shook his head a bit. “My brother thinks he is being so sneaky. Everyone in the Company knows he and Bofur are… canoodling.”

     That sure explained the soft noises coming from the bushes, although Bilbo probably wouldn’t have described what he heard as “canoodling”. They both sat there for a moment until the noises started to get louder.

     Bilbo got up. “Should we leave?”

     Thorin nodded. “Yes please.”

     Thank goodness for that. Just getting up and leaving would’ve felt very impolite, but Bilbo really couldn’t stand listening to the noises any longer. They started to climb the stairs up to the Company’s quarters when Bilbo suddenly overheard Gandalf and Elrond talking about the quest. Fine, this wasn’t particularly respectable either, but Bilbo felt like it was important.

     “Of course I was going to tell you,” Bilbo heard Gandalf say. “I was waiting for this very chance. And really, I think you can trust that I know what I am doing.”

     “Do you?” replied Elrond with a sarcastic tone. “That dragon has slept for sixty years. What will happen if your plan should fail, if you wake that beast?”

     “What if we succeed?” countered Gandalf. “If the Dwarves take back the mountain, our defences in the East will be strengthened.”

     “It is a dangerous move, Gandalf.” Elrond started to sound weary now.

     “It is also dangerous to do nothing! Oh come, the throne of Erebor is Thorin’s birth right. What is it you fear?”

     Bilbo turned around to meet Thorin’s dour look. So obviously he had heard the conversation too.

     “Have you forgotten?” snapped Elrond. He spoke now with a lower tone, but Bilbo could still pick up what he said. “A strain of madness runs deep in that family. His grandfather lost his mind. His father succumbed to the same sickness.” Bilbo frowned. This was the first time he ever heard of this. “Can you swear Thorin Oakenshield will not also fall?”

     Thorin had tensed. Bilbo didn’t know what to do or say. What could he possibly say to Thorin after what they had heard?

     Elrond wasn’t done. “Gandalf, these decisions do not rest with us alone. It is not up to you to redraw the map of Middle-Earth.”

     Thorin muttered something that sounded like good night and started to retreat to the Company’s quarters. Bilbo followed him because he had nowhere else to go. The tension that had somewhat started to unravel between them had returned, and they walked on the corridor in silence. They didn’t even reach the door when Fíli and Kíli barged out. Fíli was holding a piece of parchment.

     “Uncle, Gandalf gave this to us,” he said. “He told us to give it to you as soon as we saw you.”

     Fíli passed the note over to Thorin who strained to read it in dim light. Bilbo clenched and unclenched his hands in the silence.

     When Thorin finished reading, he folded the parchment and looked at his sister-children. “Tell everyone to pack up and then go find Frerin and Bofur. Plans have changed. We leave at dawn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul translations:  
> Tashrab = general curse, kinda like damn, crap etc
> 
> Some dialogue is taken and/or modified from The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey.
> 
> I am incredibly pleased how the firefly scene turned out!!! I was so excited and also nervous to write it, because even though it didn't make it to the movie, it's a very important scene for me and I was scared I wouldn't be able to do it justice. Turns out it's now my fave scene in this fic so far, I'm so proud of it ♥
> 
> Comments are appreciated, as always :)


	5. Chapter V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frerin invented shield-surfing first.  
> Kíli uses the Durin Death Glare. It's super effective!  
> Dwarves have sensible gender concepts, stone giants are a hazard, and everyone is collectively done with a certain old scrotum beard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoooo finally! I suffered through several writer's blocks while writing this, but I'm finished now and hell yeah just one more chapter and we've got AUJ covered!
> 
> As always, big thanks to my awesome beta, [Tayla](http://dragonbilbo.tumblr.com)
> 
> Comments are much appreciated ❤

The sun hadn’t even properly risen when the Company left Rivendell. In many ways Frerin was relieved to leave (the Elves and their haughtiness had started to get on his nerves), but at the same time he’d miss the peace the Valley offered.

     Still, they had to reach Erebor before the last day of autumn, and it was already the last week of June. They had to go. On foot the journey would take much longer than what they had originally planned, but none of them had thought they’d lose their ponies even before they reached the Misty Mountains.

     “Be on your guard,” said Thorin as Frerin walked past Bilbo, who was giving Rivendell one last longing look. “We’re about to step over the Edge of the Wild. Balin, you know these paths, lead on.”

     Well, that was good, thought Frerin. Given that Thorin had lost his way twice in the Shire, if he tried to lead them over the Misty Mountains they’d reach Erebor next year, if even then. (Granted, Thorin would’ve said the same thing about him, and they _had_ got lost together, so Frerin wasn’t sure if he had the right to make fun of his brother.) Still, Balin in the lead was the safest bet. At least that way they wouldn’t get badly lost.

     “Master Baggins, I suggest you keep up,” called Thorin, and Frerin turned to look. Bilbo was still looking at Rivendell, but now he turned and nodded. Frerin hummed. He wouldn’t have blamed Bilbo if he decided to go back to Rivendell. They were going to have a long and trying trek ahead.

     The Company paused at around midday to eat and rest for a while by a mountain creek. Bombur started to cook lunch (meagre as it would be, it was still about time to eat) while the rest of them sat and stretched their legs. Kíli pulled out some fabric, thread and a needle, and continued the embroidery work she’d been making whenever she had time.

     “What is it going to be?” asked Frerin as he sat next to his niece.

     “A comb purse, for Uncle Thorin,” answered Kíli, not taking her eyes off the needle. “His birthday is in a few months and I just hope I can get this done by then.”

     Frerin patted her shoulder and said he hoped so too. Knowing Kíli, trying to assure her that of course she’d finish it in time wasn’t going to work. Despite the confident air she put up, Frerin knew she had some severe self-esteem issues.

     “So how are you going to embroider it?” asked Frerin.

     Kíli made a face. “I’m gonna try the raven motif. It’s a bit of a challenge, I know, but I’m never gonna be as good as ‘Amad if I don’t try something harder.”

     Then she returned to her needlework, and Frerin got up. When Kíli had a sharp needle in her hand, it was best not to bother her. If she was anything like Dís, she wouldn’t fuss where to stick the needle if irritated. So Frerin decided to go chat with Bofur and Bilbo instead.

     “I didn’t even think Kíli could be so serious when she isn’t shooting arrows”, said Bilbo, looking over the camp at Kíli.

     Frerin shrugged. “Aye, well, she takes surprisingly much after her ‘amad when it comes to embroidery.”

     Bilbo’s face was blank. “’Amad?”

     “Her mother,” supplied Bofur. “The works of the famous Lady Dís are very sought after. The birds look like they could just take off from the cloth and fly away.”

     “Kíli is going to be even better than Dís if she keeps up like this,” said Frerin, pride swelling in his chest. “She’s only seventy-seven and is already trying the raven motif, one of the hardest motifs our sigin-‘amad ever came up with. I don’t think Dís tried it before her centennial; embroidery itself is so hard that it takes decades to master, let alone one of the hardest motifs.”

     Bilbo opened his mouth, probably to ask something, but was cut off by Kíli’s irritated voice.

     “Fíli, I swear to Mahal I’ll stick my needle in your prick if you don’t leave me alone!”

     Fíli seemed to take the threat seriously because he retreated to where Frerin, Bilbo and Bofur were sitting. He sat down and sighed.

     “Thank goodness she doesn’t have the needle meant for working with leather with her.” Fíli’s moustache braids twitched. “That thing is a hundred times nastier than any of her regular needles.”

     Frerin shook his head, a grin trying to push through on his lips. “What did you do?”

     Fíli made a face. “I just asked what she was doing.”

     “Ah.” Frerin patted Fíli’s shoulder. “Don’t take it personally. She’s going to try the raven motif and she needs all the peace we can give her.”

     Fíli stared at his uncle. “The raven motif?! But she’s so young still to try it! Not even ‘amad tried it before her centennial, she told us so!”

     “I know!”

     “Um, keep your voices down, won’t you?” asked Bofur. “Kíli’s giving you the Durin Death Glare.”

     Frerin looked over at his niece and true enough, she was glaring at the lot of them with such contempt that Frerin contemplated whether they should just see if that sort of glare would drive Smaug out of Erebor. Durin Death Glare, indeed.

     Bilbo broke the awkward silence that had fallen. “So, uh, does the embroidery have a special meaning or…?”

     “It depends,” answered Fíli. “Some carry a special meaning, like protection or friendship or affection, but most of the time they just make everyday items look prettier. Our womenfolk do it for the most part, but there are exceptions. Dori for example is also very good at it.”

     “Aye,” agreed Frerin. “And learning is usually started at an early age, not only because the most intricate techniques take years to master, but also because a lot of the items are things that people bring with them when they marry and move to their own house. And if a person is very good at embroidery and manages to make extra items, it becomes extra income. Comb purses, clothes, saddlebags… Dís has got some very good prices from her works.”

     Frerin looked over at Kíli again and lowered his voice. “I hope one day Kíli can see that she is as good as her ‘amad. She has a bit of an… inferiority complex, so to say.”

     Fíli grimaced, and Frerin shut his mouth. Right, Fíli hated to be reminded of it.

     Bilbo raised an eyebrow. “What, Kíli? But she seems so confident all the time.”

     “Aye, that’s the air she puts up,” sighed Fíli. “The truth is a whole other thing. Anyway, I’ll go see if Uncle Thorin needs me to do anything.”

     Frerin shook his head a bit as his nephew took off, and gave Bilbo a small grin upon seeing the Hobbit’s confused frown.

     “Fíli doesn’t like to be reminded of Kíli’s self-esteem issues,” he explained. “In a gold plating Kíli wants to make her brother proud, and Fíli wants his sister to know that he already is.”

     Bilbo turned to look first at Fíli, who was now talking with Thorin, and then at Kíli, who seemed to be swearing at her needle.

     “I… can’t imagine what that must feel like.”

     Frerin patted Bilbo’s shoulder. “Then you are lucky. Before Erebor fell, I felt the same as Kíli does. I was the middle child, neither the heir to the throne or the valued princess, so I tended to do… silly things to get attention.”

     Bofur snorted a laugh, and Bilbo raised an eyebrow.

     “Like what?”

     Frerin giggled. “Well, for example I used to slide down long stairs while standing on a shield. Let’s just say it didn’t go as I had planned.”

     “Indeed no,” interjected Balin and sat next to Frerin. “Three broken ribs, a broken wrist and broken nose. I thought Thráin was going to have a heart failure.”

     Frerin shrugged with a grin. “At least I had everyone’s attention for the weeks I was kept in the healing house.”

     Bofur roared with laughter, and Bilbo stared at Frerin, looking like he had swallowed something sour.

     “Aye, you used to be very wild, laddie,” hummed Balin. “We’ve all been relieved that you’ve calmed down a bit with the age.”

     “Well, after Fíli and Kíli were born I figured I ought to at least try to act like an uncle,” said Frerin. “And I think it made everything easier for Dís and Víli, so it was worth it.”

     Bilbo’s face was blank again. Oh, right, of course he didn’t know that much about people outside the Company.

     “Víli is Dís’ wife,” explained Frerin. “Fíli takes a lot after her, appearance-wise that is. That marriage was one of the best things that have happened to this family. Víli runs a forge in the Blue Mountains, and she has made many of our weapons.”

     “Wait a– her _wife_?” repeated Bilbo. “But… if Fíli and Kíli were born to the both of them, how on this good earth…?”

     Frerin slapped his forehead. “Shoot, I forgot these things aren’t the same for every race.”

     Bofur rolled his eyes, and Balin elbowed him in the ribs, allowing Frerin to continue.

     “Us Dwarves, we don’t determine gender based on what a person has between their legs. What matters is how they feel in here.” Frerin tapped his forehead with his finger. “Víli is a Dwarrowdam in any and every sense, she just has the ability to sire children. Out of the Company here Dori is the same, only the other way around. He could carry children, only that never happened.”

     “We met so late in life, it wasn’t possible anymore,” Balin put in. “Not that it matters to either of us, we have each other and that is perfectly enough.”

     Frerin patted Balin’s shoulder. “Aye, and then there’s Nori, who is what we call fluid. Today he has a he day, but sometimes there are they days and she days, although she days are very rare.”

     “Mm, and Ori’s not quite sure yet but for the time bein’ he uses the he pronouns,” added Bofur.

     Bilbo raised an eyebrow at them. “You Dwarves are a strange lot, but I guess these things will make sense to me one day. Just… please tell me whenever Nori changes the pronouns. I may not understand but I also don’t want to be rude.”

     “You got it,” promised Bofur. “You’ll get the hang of it too at some point. Nori changes his braids according to what pronouns he uses. We’ll point them out for you whenever that happens.”

     Then Fíli patted Frerin on the shoulder and said, “Uncle Thorin says we’re moving on.”

     Everyone put the things they had taken out from their rucksacks back in and put the rucksacks back on. They had a long way to go.

 

* * *

 

About a week into the trek across the Misty Mountains a thunderstorm hit the Company. The timing couldn’t have been worse; the paths were already narrow enough without also becoming slippery. Thorin fumbled, trying to find a handle in the wet mountainside. His hair started to stick on his face, further blocking his already bad vision.

     “Hey, hold on!” he shouted to the Company when he turned around to see if everyone was still there. He couldn’t see past Balin, who was behind Óin and Glóin, who were right behind him. They had to find shelter, and quickly. If they kept going like this, they could all fall down, or get crushed by a landslide, or…

     “Look out!” yelled Dwalin from somewhere in the back of the line the Company had formed on the mountainside. Something flung a massive boulder at the mountain, and it broke into several smaller boulders. The Company pressed themselves against the mountainside as much as they could, and Balin shouted, “This is no thunderstorm, it’s a thunder battle!” He pointed at a figure on the other side of the gorge. “Look!”

     The figure ripped another boulder of the mountain in the other side and tossed it at something behind the Company.

     “Bless me, the legends are true!” exclaimed Bofur. “Giants! Stone giants!”

     Another rain of rocks came down on them.

     “Take cover, you fool!” Thorin shouted at Bofur, and Frerin thankfully pulled him out of the danger’s way to what little safety they had in the narrow path. More rocks came pouring down and with a loud crack the mountain they were standing on started to break in two.

     “Kíli, grab my hand!” Thorin heard Fíli’s frantic shout. Oh no, Frerin had been right behind Fíli and Bofur, which meant he was now on the other side of the newly formed gorge – and after he looked up he saw that they were standing on a stone giant’s leg. Of course, just when he thought things couldn’t get any worse.

     Another stone giant butted its head against the one the Company was standing on. Their stone giant lost its balance and fell against another mountain (hopefully not another giant). Thorin saw that this was their chance.

     “Come on!” he shouted. “Go, go, go!”

     He only had half the Company with him, but he had to take that half away from danger at least. The other half was still standing on the stone giant’s right leg, and was now moving further away as the stone giants exchanged punches. Then a third giant joined in and knocked one giant out of the game, and soon after knocked the Company’s giant’s head clean off.

     The giant lost its balance again but before it fell, it smashed its knee, where the rest of the Company was, against the mountainside where Thorin’s half was.

     “No! No!” shouted Thorin. This couldn’t be happening. Frerin and Fíli were there, and Dwalin, they couldn’t… Thorin refused to finish the thought.

     The stone giant fell, but there were no signs of seven Dwarves and a Hobbit on it. Thorin ran forward.

     “No! Fíli! Frerin!”

     “Fíli!” shrieked Kíli from the end of the line.

     Thorin ran to the edge where the stone giant’s knee had hit, and sighed in relief. Everyone was there, maybe a bit battered and bruised, but alive. He helped Bofur up before moving to help the others.

     “It’s alright!” Glóin shouted to the rest of the group. “They’re alive!”

     Bofur looked around and asked with a shaking voice, “Where’s Bilbo? Where’s the Hobbit?”

     Thorin froze for a moment before he saw Master Baggins hanging on the cliff.

     “Get him!” yelled Dwalin, and Ori and Bofur rushed into Master Baggins’ aid, trying to get him to grab their hands. Master Baggins missed and fell some two feet, hanging on a small ledge with one hand. Bofur and Ori were still trying to reach him when Thorin decided to take matters in his own hands. Hanging onto the cliff, he dropped down to grab Master Baggins from his rucksack and pushed him up to the Company.

     And then he lost his grip.

     Dwalin grabbed Thorin’s hand right on time, and pulled him up.

     Master Baggins was breathing heavily, and Dwalin said, “I thought we’d lost our burglar.”

     Thorin got back on his feet. “He’s been lost ever since he left home,” he snapped, more out of his own frustration in the adversities than anger at Master Baggins. “He should never have come. He has no place amongst us.” Then he noticed a cave. “Dwalin!”

     Thorin and Dwalin walked past Fíli trying to help Bombur back on his feet, into the cave. It was dark, and the floor was covered in sand, which would be cold in the night, but it was dry at least.

     “Looks safe enough,” commented Dwalin.

     “Search to the back,” Thorin told him. “Caves in the mountain are seldom unoccupied.”

     Dwalin lit his lantern and searched the east side of the cave. “There’s nothing here!” he called.

     At that point the rest of the Company had started to gather in the cave, water dripping from them, and Glóin dropped firewood on the floor.

     “Right then,” he said, rubbing his hands. “Let’s get a fire started!”

     “No, no fires,” said Thorin. “Not in this place.” Not that he wouldn’t have liked the warmth, but who knew what creatures the fire might tempt? “Get some sleep, we start at first light.”

     Balin approached him. “We were to wait in the mountains until Gandalf joined us. That was the plan.”

     “Plans change,” answered Thorin, and looked at Bofur who was fussing over Frerin. “Bofur, take the first watch.”

     Bofur opened his mouth, but nodded instead. Thorin gave him a small smile before he started to check if anyone was injured beyond cuts and bruises. Kíli was fussing over her brother who insisted that he was fine, though he did have a massive bruise in his arm. Frerin was in a similar state; no harm beyond minor cuts and bruises, and thank Mahal for that. They couldn’t afford broken limbs here, since even though they had the means to bind them, they had no time to wait for them to heal properly.

     It wasn’t long until the Company was asleep.

 

* * *

 

Bofur yawned. He had no idea how long he had been up, but he knew that it was either very late or very early. He rubbed his eyes and decided he would wake Dwalin in a while. Oh, what he would’ve given for a good, warm, soft bed…

      Bofur scratched the skin behind his ear and looked up just as Bilbo walked past him.

     “Where do you think you’re going?” asked Bofur with a hushed tone. The last thing he wanted to do was to wake up the entire Company.

     Bilbo looked down and then back up to Bofur. “Back to Rivendell.”

     What?! Why in the name of Mahal’s beard would Bilbo go back _now_? Bofur jumped up. “No, no, you can’t turn back now, eh? You’re one of us! You’re part of the Company!”

     Bilbo let out a resigned sigh. “I’m not though, am I?” Bofur frowned, so Bilbo continued. “Thorin said that I should never have come and he was right. I’m not a Took, I’m a Baggins. I don’t know what I was thinking. I should never have run out of the door.”

     Bofur had no idea what Bilbo’s family had to do with anything, but he knew Bilbo couldn’t just leave, not now. They’d come so far, they were half-way the journey, and the mountains were dangerous, he couldn’t just…

     “You’re home-sick!” Bofur exclaimed. “I understand!”

     “No, you don’t!” argued Bilbo. “You don’t understand, none of you do! You’re Dwarves! You’re used to… to this life! To living on the road, never settling in one place, not belonging anywhere!”

     The last time Bofur was punched in the face had been a long time ago, but what Bilbo just said hurt him more than any punch or kick in the groin ever would. His face might’ve given it away, because Bilbo started to stammer an apology.

     “No, you’re right,” interrupted Bofur and turned to look at the sleeping Company. “We don’t belong anywhere.”

     None of them did, they never had. It was a miracle they even existed in the first place. Bofur didn’t know if Bilbo knew about the tale how Dwarves came into being and how they were almost destroyed before they could properly start living, but it didn’t matter. Bilbo had a home, after all; they should let him go back if he so wanted.

     Bofur put his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder and tried to put on a smile. “I wish you all the luck in the world. I really do,” he added upon seeing Bilbo’s raised eyebrows.

     Bilbo nodded, smiled a little and patted Bofur’s arm before he started to turn away. That was when Bofur noticed a sliver of blue glow in Bilbo’s hip.

     “What’s that?”

     Bilbo pulled his small sword up. Its glow was as bright as it had been the day the Company had been fleeing the Orcs. Bilbo and Bofur looked at each other in horror as something below them creaked and the sand in the cave’s floor sank.

     “Wake up!” shouted Thorin, who apparently had been awake too. “Wake up!”

     Then the floor opened and the Company fell into the darkness below.

     Bofur didn’t know how far they fell, but when they finally reached some kind of a platform on an underground cliff, he probably had bruises everywhere in his body that could bruise (and some that couldn’t). Heck, he felt like he had bruises over his already existing bruises! And of course Bombur had to fall on all of them, as if they didn’t hurt enough already.

     And just when Bofur thought things couldn’t get any worse, they did, as they were attacked by a horde of goblins. It was a nasty mess of grabby hands and sharp nails and something shoving you from behind. Bofur could swear one of the goblins grabbed his bottom, but he wasn’t sure if it was the one he punched in the face seconds later.

     The Company was pushed along long rope bridges towards… no one knew what. Judging from the sound of pounding pans and a shrill horn (poor Bifur, thought Bofur, his cousin had never been able to handle very shrill noises, and even less so after he got the axe stuck in his forehead) it couldn’t be anything good. A moment later it became clear that the sounds were the overture of a song. A very, very bad song.

 

 _“Clap, snap, the black crack_  
     _Grip, grab, pinch, and nab_  
_Batter and beat_  
_Make ‘em stammer and squeak!_  
_Pound, pound, faaaaaaaar underground_  
_Down, down, down in Goblin Town”_

As the Great Goblin sang, the Company was pushed onwards, and Bofur saw everyone trying to cover their ears, but the song was so loud that just covering ears with hands didn’t help.

 

 _“With a swish and smack_  
     _And a whip and a crack_  
_Everybody talks when they’re on my rack_  
_Pound, pound, far underground_  
_Down, down, down in Goblin Town”_

Oh dear, the other goblins chorused the last verse.

 

_“Hammer and tongs, get out your knockers and gongs  
     You won't last long on the end of my prongs”_

At this point the Great Goblin skewered one of the smaller goblins, and Bofur was just about ready to throw up.

_“Clash, crash, crush and smash_  
     _Bang, break, shiver and shake_  
  
_You can yammer and yelp_  
_But there ain’t no help_  
_Pound, pound, far underground_  
_Down, down, down in Goblin Town”_

During the last verse the Great Goblin got off his weird throne made of a… bed? Yes, it actually was a bed. So, he got off his throne made of a large bed and some bones, and twirled around in a lousy attempt to dance or show off. Then he got back on the throne (stepping on some of his subjects to do so).

    “Catchy, isn’t it?” he asked the Company, rubbing his chin that looked like some sort of scrotum beard, and Bofur made a face and tilted his head from side to side. He had heard worse. “It’s one of my own compositions.”

     “That’s not a song!” shouted Balin. “It’s an abomination!”

     The Great Goblin just dismissed this, waving his hand. “Abominations, mutations, deviations. That’s all you’re gonna find down here!”

    The goblin horde dropped the Company’s weapons they had taken to the Great Goblin’s feet, and he got off his throne again.

     “Who would be so bold as to come armed into my kingdom?” he demanded. “Spies? Thieves? Assassins?”

     Bofur could swear the Great Goblin’s voice raised several octaves while he listed what he thought the Company was.

     “Dwarves, Your Malevolence,” answered one of the smaller goblins, a leader of a sort, maybe.

     “Dwarves?!” squeaked the Goblin King.

     “We found them on the front porch!”

     “Well don’t just stand there!” exclaimed the Great Goblin. “Search them! Every crack, every crevice!”

     As if the groping the goblins had done when the Company had fallen into the Goblin Town hadn’t been enough. Bofur saw one of the goblins flatten Óin’s ear trumpet, and some of them emptied the sack where Nori had put all the items they had nicked from Rivendell.

     The leader goblin picked up a candle tree. “It is my belief, your great protuberance, that they are in league with Elves!”

     He passed the candle tree over to the Great Goblin, who peered at its bottom. “Made… in… Rivendell.” The Great Goblin scoffed. “Second Age, couldn’t give it away,” he said as though he were an expert in analysing Elven objects, and tossed the candleholder away.

    Dwalin and Dori turned to look at Nori, who tried to put on their best “I’m innocent” look. It had never actually worked when Nori was under pressure, as far as Bofur knew.

     “Just a couple of keepsakes,” said Nori quietly.

     The Great Goblin wasn’t done with his questioning.

     “What are you doing in these parts?” he asked.

     The Company shared some worrying looks, and Thorin was about to step forward when Óin put his hand on his shoulder.

     “Don’t worry, lads,” said Óin, and stepped forwards. “I’ll handle this.”

     The goblins around them clamoured, and the Great Goblin waved his hand to calm them down.

     “No tricks,” insisted the Great Goblin. “I want the truth, warts and all!”

     “You’re going to have to speak up,” answered Óin, and pulled up his ear trumpet, or what was left of it. “Your boys flattened my trumpet.”

     The Great Goblin banged his staff on the floor. “I’ll flatten more than your trumpet!”

     Bofur had a sudden surge of courage, pushed Óin out of the way, and stammered, “I-if it’s more information you want, I’m the one you should speak to!”

     The Great Goblin halted and frowned; it was clear that he was listening.

     Alright Bofur, think fast, Bofur thought to himself and started to tell a story that was utter Orc dung, but it had to do.

     “We were on the road. Well, it’s not so much a road as a path. Actually it’s not even that, come to think of it, more like a track. Anyway, the point is, we were on this road like a path like a track, and then we weren’t!” Bofur glanced at Frerin standing next to him, who gently squeezed his hand. “Which is a problem because we were supposed to be in Dunland last Tuesday.”

     “Visiting distant relations!” Dori put in.

     Bofur nodded. Good addition, Dori. “Some inbreds on me mother’s side.”

     “SHUT UP!” roared the Great Goblin. Bofur opened his mouth, but decided to oblige. He had stalled them enough.

     The Great Goblin pointed at the Dwarves with his gnarly finger. “Very well, if they will not talk, we’ll make them squawk!” he announced, and the goblins cheered. That couldn’t be good. “Bring up the mangler! Bring up the bonebreaker!” Then he pointed at Ori. “Start with the youngest!”

     Ori’s face was a mix of fear and offence, and Bofur knew why. Ori was not the youngest, he was nearly one hundred and two decades older than Kíli, who actually was the youngest. He just still had a baby face.

     “Wait!” shouted Thorin and stepped forward.

     The Great Goblin’s face lit up. “Well, well, well, look who it is!” he gloated. “Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King under the Mountain.” He made a mocking court bow, and Bofur knew Thorin was picturing all the ways he could kill the old scrotum beard. “Oh! But I’m forgetting you don’t have a mountain! And you’re not a king, which makes you… nobody, really.”

     Now it was Bofur’s turn to squeeze Frerin’s hand, so that he wouldn’t have attacked the Great Goblin and got them all killed in the process. Thorin remained still, and Bofur couldn’t help but admire him for it.

     “I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head,” continued the Great Goblin, oddly gleefully. “Just the head, nothing attached. Perhaps you know of whom I speak. An old enemy of yours.”

     That broke Thorin’s relatively serene look into a glare.

     “A pale Orc,” said the Great Goblin, and Bofur felt Frerin tense next to him, “astride a white Warg.”

     Thorin continued to glare at the Great Goblin. “Azog the Defiler was destroyed,” he said, rage seeping from his voice. “He was slain in battle long ago!”

     “So you think his defiling days are done, do you?” taunted the Great Goblin and laughed before he turned to his scribe, an ugly tiny thing sitting in a swing. “Send word to the Pale Orc. Tell him I have found his prize.”

     Cackling, the scribe rolled down a cableway in his swing. Right, thought Bofur. They were screwed.

 

* * *

 

Thorin was already having a rotten week but this was the top of the dung pile. The implications of Azog the Defiler still living after all Thorin had done to finish him off had been bad enough, but now they were going to be tortured as well. The Great Goblin had sent some of his subjects to bring up the torture devices, and while waiting had broken into song again.

 

     _“Bones will be shattered_  
     _Necks will be wrung_  
_You’ll be beaten and battered_  
_From the racks you’ll be hung_  
_You will die down here and never be found!_  
_Down in the deep of Goblin Town!”_

As he sang, one of the goblins unsheathed Orcrist (keep your filthy hands off it, Thorin wanted to shout) and instantly dropped it as if it had burnt him. The Great Goblin saw it too and climbed back on his throne, like a child who had just seen a snake.

     “I know that sword, it is the Goblin-cleaver!” he wailed. “The Biter! The blade that sliced a thousand necks!”

     Well that did make Thorin proud of his sword, but not much, because the goblin that had unsheathed it started to whip him. He tried to punch the goblin, but a whole bunch of others tackled him. In the middle of it all Thorin heard the screams of his brother and sister-children.

     _I don’t care what happens to me, just please don’t hurt them, please…_

“Slash them!” shouted the Great Goblin. “Beat them! Kill them! Kill them all! Cut off his head!”

     A goblin raised its dagger above Thorin’s head, and he was sure his time had come when–

     _FLASH_

     A flash of light brighter than any Thorin had seen (aside from dragon-fire) and so powerful it made some of the goblins fly right off the platform appeared, and Thorin’s head hit the floor. Silence fell as the light disappeared, and a familiar figure stepped out of the shadows.

     Gandalf had finally reached them.

     The Company and the goblins started to get back up again.

     “Take up arms,” said Gandalf. “Fight. Fight!”

     As if on cue the Company was back on their feet and reached for their weapons, no matter if it was their own or someone else’s. They’d trade them once they got into safety. The goblins started to swarm on them again, but this time the tables were turned. Gandalf wielded both his staff and his new sword, Glamdring, installing fear into the hearts of the goblins.

     “He wields the Foehammer!” screamed the Great Goblin from his throne. “The Beater! Bright as daylight!”

     _Yes, thank you for the product report, it is not at all distracting_ , thought Thorin.

     “Thorin!” shouted Nori, and Thorin turned around right on time to block the Great Goblin’s staff. The Great Goblin lost his balance and fell off the platform.

     The Company and Gandalf slew goblins left and right, but more came at them all the time. At this rate they’d all be killed, they couldn’t fight all of them forever.

     “Follow me,” called Gandalf. “Quick!”

     The Company finished off the goblins they were fighting and followed Gandalf deeper into (or away from? It was hard to tell) the Goblin Tunnels.

     “RUN!” shouted Gandalf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Khuzdul translations:  
> 'Amad = mum  
> sigin-'amad = grandmother
> 
> Some of the dialogue is taken and/or modified from The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey
> 
> About the gender concepts, I'm cis myself, so if you're trans and something seems offensive in any way please tell me (and maybe give me ideas how to fix it, I'm still learning).
> 
> Kíli's embroidery was inspired by Mori Kaoru's beautiful manga series Otoyomegatari (A Bride's Story), much because I wanted her to have a traditionally feminine skill as well, and embroidery is honestly amazing stuff ♥ unfortunately I can't provide you with any images on how I picture the comb purse, at least not yet.
> 
> Next chapter: some hugging *wink wink nudge nudge*


	6. Chapter VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin has very undignified last words, Bilbo needs to put the Ring back where it came from or so help me, the main villain appears at last (and I can't wait to kill him off), and that one thing we've all been waiting for finally happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a good flow one night, which is why I was able to update this quickly ♥ This chapter is the best shit I've ever written, and also the chapter I've wanted to write a long time, so yay it's finally here!
> 
> Enormous thanks to my awesome beta, [Tayla](http://dragonbilbo.tumblr.com), as always ♥

Running through Goblin Tunnels wasn’t exactly the sort of activity Dwalin had wished to experience during their quest. Running? Yes. The cramped tunnels while trying to dodge attacking goblins? Not so much. There were so many goblins coming at them, and they numbered just fourteen or fifteen. Dwalin wasn’t sure if the wee Hobbit was still there or not, he hadn’t seen him since they had fallen into the Goblin Town.

     Dwalin knocked two more goblins off the bridge only to see whole horde coming at him, Nori, and some others, he couldn’t tell who, it was such a blur.

     “Post!” he bellowed. Together with the rest of the group he cut off the ropes holding the post. “CHARGE!”

     With the wood post Dwalin and his group knocked several more goblins coming at them off the bridge and to their deaths. A bit further away Ori struck down goblins with someone’s war hammer. Dwalin wasn’t sure if it was his or Frerin’s, but it didn’t matter, it was still very impressive. The rest of the Company was a blur all over the place, but as far as Dwalin could tell, everyone was still alive and in one piece.

     Suddenly yet another horde of goblins (how many of them were there even?) flung on ropes across the gorge.

     “Cut the ropes!” shouted Thorin, and everyone who could cut the ropes that held the bridge above them, and the goblins got tangled in it and, again, plummeted into their deaths.

     “Good one,” said Dwalin when he reached Thorin. “Hope this means your general rotten luck–” Dwalin paused to kick an attacking goblin “–is finally turning.”

     Thorin cracked a small smile before he did yet another of what Dwalin had started to call Death Twirls and skewered a few more goblins with his new Elf sword. At the same time Dwalin noticed Kíli blocking incoming arrows with her sword and rushed to help her when the lass decided to grab a ladder. Well, her fighting style had always been “whatever works”, so Dwalin wasn’t going to lecture her afterwards about the flimsy shield. It worked, so Dwalin was happy.

     After that the battle became fuzzy again until Dwalin found himself dangling from a ledge of a bridge Fíli had just cut off. Hang on, how did that happen? And then out of all people it was Ori who offered him a hand. Dwalin grabbed Ori’s hand a bit gingerly, hoping he wouldn’t accidentally pull the lad into the same state he was in, and – _whoa_! Ori pulled him up with ease. Dwalin froze for a second before he got back on his feet and followed the rest of the Company. Of course he knew that Dori was the strongest person in the Company, but he hadn’t thought that Ori had inherited that strength too, Ori was so gentle. But good that he had.

     The Company ran onwards until the trail became too low even for them, let alone Gandalf – who then blasted off the giant boulder blocking their way. They started to roll it down the path and it swept down all the goblins in its path until it fell down the gorge. It had served its purpose and now they had to cross one more bridge and then they’d soon get out of the caves–

     _CRACK!_

     The Great Goblin emerged from the depths, breaking the bridge in half. Glóin and Dori who had been in the lead backed off behind Gandalf.

     “You thought you could escape me,” sneered the Great Goblin and tried to hit Gandalf with the club end of his staff. Gandalf lost his balance and nearly fell on Nori and Ori behind him. “What’re you gonna do now, Wizard?”

     Nori and Ori pushed Gandalf up again, and Gandalf first poked the Great Goblin in the eye with his own staff, and then slashed his sword across the goblin’s belly.

     The Great Goblin looked down at the wound. “That’ll do it.”

     Gandalf finished the job by slashing the Great Goblin’s throat (a remarkable feat, considering that the throat was hidden behind what looked like a scrotum beard, thought Dwalin), and the Great Goblin fell dead on the bridge. The bridge creaked and cracked and broke, falling down into the depths, and the Company with it. Dwalin had hoped his last words would’ve been something noble and courageous, but instead they were something akin to, “AAAARRRRGGGGHHHH!”

     The bridge slid down the gorge and finally started to slow down when it met a narrower spot, dropping down with a thud. Everyone seemed to be still alive and in one piece, which Dwalin thought was a miracle. Bruised and battered they were, even worse than before, but alive. Dwalin looked at Kíli who was stuck next to him. She was grimacing from pain, but seemed otherwise fine.

     “Well that could’ve been worse,” said Bofur, and of course right after that the corpse of the Great Goblin fell on them.

     “You’ve got to be joking!” groaned Dwalin.

     The Dwarves started to emerge from beneath the planks and the rubble, groaning and grumbling, when Kíli shrieked, “Gandalf!”

     Dwalin looked up at the same time as the Wizard did. The entire population of Goblin Town that was still alive was crawling down the slope at them.

     Dwalin helped Nori back up on their feet as they happened to be close by.

     “There’s too many, we can’t fight them!” he exclaimed.

     “Only one thing will save us,” replied Gandalf, pulling the Dwarves back up. “Daylight! Come on!” He pulled Óin up from the planks, who in turn helped Balin emerge from the rubble. Thankfully, safety wasn’t far away.  Even from here they all could see the small sliver of sunlight, and the way to the mouth of the cave.

     Dwalin pulled Frerin and Bofur on their feet and pushed them onwards. Everyone was still there, and Dwalin had no idea how it was possible. By all accounts they shouldn’t have survived all that, especially the falls, and yet here they were.

     Just a few more yards, Dwalin thought as he ran. Ten, nine, eight… and yes! They were out of the Goblin Tunnels in the sunlight, safe at last. They ran down the hill, as far away from the caves as possible, and Dwalin swore that he never wanted to see another goblin in his life.

* * *

 

Bilbo had had the most rotten day in his life so far. First there had been the fall into the Goblin Tunnels, then after he had managed to sneak away from the main horde another brutish goblin attacked him, and they had lost their balance and fallen into the darkness below. As if that hadn’t been enough, Bilbo had run into a strange creature that spoke about himself in plural and made a weird “gollum” sound every now and then and that had wanted to eat him. They’d had a good round of riddles (it had been the only way for Bilbo to gamble his way out), and while Bilbo knew that _“what do I have in my pocket?”_ wasn’t really a riddle, it might have just saved his life. And then he’d had to run away from the creature because it had started to accuse him of stealing “his precious”. Sure, Bilbo had found a gold ring from the spot where he had fallen, but it was just a ring. There was nothing that special about it, surely.

     Bilbo found a crack in the rock and tried to fit through, but it was ever so slightly too narrow for him. He got stuck from his buttons. Blast it, why now? The Gollum creature’s noises were coming closer, and no doubt he’d find Bilbo there.

     And find Bilbo the creature Gollum did. He crawled nearer, hissing, “It’s ours. It’sss ours!”

     Bilbo tried to squeeze through before he’d end up as Gollum’s dinner, and just before Gollum pounced at him, he managed to get through, though at the cost of his acorn buttons. And then he lost his balance, and the ring flew out of his pocket. Attempting to catch it, Bilbo reached out his left arm, and somehow the ring ended up in his middle finger.

     Gollum jumped right past Bilbo, and all of the sudden he was blurred from the edges – and so was the small clearing Bilbo was lying in. Bilbo frowned, squeezing his sword in his right hand, as Gollum continued to scream.

     “Thief! Baggins!”

     His screams sounded oddly muffled. Gollum ran out of the clearing, and Bilbo stumbled back on his feet. Maybe he’d find a way out if he followed Gollum, though he couldn’t tell why the creature hadn’t seen him. Unless – and Bilbo found the idea completely ridiculous – the ring had somehow made him invisible. It didn’t make sense, but it was the only explanation Bilbo was able to come up with at the moment.

     Bilbo followed Gollum until Gollum came across a narrow pathway, and Bilbo let out a relieved sigh. He could see sunlight, so he was close to freedom.

     “Wait!” wailed Gollum. “My precious! Wait!”

     Bilbo had no idea how to get past Gollum there, and he had his sword at the ready, when Gollum suddenly retreated back to the rocks that were between the path and the track Bilbo was on.

     “Quickly!” Gandalf’s voice was muffled, much like Gollum’s, but even blurred like that Bilbo could recognise the Grey Wizard and Thorin’s Company anywhere. Bilbo wanted to call for them, but of course, they wouldn’t be able to see him if he was invisible, and then he’d reveal himself to Gollum, which he did not want.

     Right, the only way to get past Gollum seemed to be to kill him. Bilbo placed his sword near Gollum’s neck, ready to strike, but then he hesitated. Gollum was dangerous and loathsome, but right now Bilbo only felt pity towards him. He didn’t deserve death, as odd as it sounded, after he’d tried to kill and eat Bilbo. Suddenly Bilbo also recalled what Gandalf had told him many weeks, nearly months ago. _“True courage is about knowing not when to take a life, but when to spare one.”_ And truth be told, Bilbo didn’t want to kill Gollum. So he backed off a bit and leaped past the creature, and ran towards the sunlight and safety. Gollum cursed him, no doubt, but Bilbo didn’t care. He’d made it out, so now he only had to find the Company.

     Bilbo’s eyes watered as he stepped out in the sunlight, and his head ached. Whether it was due the ring or just the fact that he had been in dark tunnels for so long, he did not know or care at that moment. He saw the Company running down the hill, so he followed them as fast as he could. He had never been much of a runner but he could somewhat keep up in the downhill. Sun was setting and it gave the woods a crimson hue. Under any other circumstances Bilbo might have stopped to admire the beauty of it, but now he had to catch up with the Company before he’d be hopelessly lost.

     Downhill seemed to go on and on forever until finally Bilbo saw and heard Gandalf counting the Dwarves. Bilbo halted and stayed behind a pine tree.

     “And Bombur, that makes fourteen,” said the Wizard and looked around. “Where is Bilbo? Where is our Hobbit?!”

     Everyone looked around, and Bilbo even noticed how Fíli and Kíli looked up in the trees. As if Bilbo could easily climb those.

     Dwalin groaned. “Curse the Halfling, now he’s lost?!”

     “I thought he was with Dori!” exclaimed Glóin.

     “Don’t blame me!” complained Dori.

     “Well, when did you last see him?” asked Gandalf.

     Nori raised his (their? Bilbo wasn’t sure. Nori did have the braids differently than usual, so maybe it was they pronouns that day) hand. “I think I saw him slip away when they first collared us,” they said.

     Well, Nori had seen right, though Bilbo, and was about to step up when he heard Thorin’s voice.

     “I’ll tell you what happened,” growled Thorin. “Master Baggins saw his chance and he took it! He has thought of nothing but his soft bed and his warm hearth since first he stepped out of his door!”

     Bilbo frowned. Of course he thought about them, he missed them. It was his home for crying out loud, and he’d much like to go back… like the Dwarves wanted to go back to Erebor. It finally dawned to Bilbo. They missed their home even more than he missed Bag End. Bilbo looked up to the Misty Mountains and then back at the Company. He had made the choice, and he would go through with it, no matter what.

     “We will not be seeing our Hobbit again,” continued Thorin harshly. “He is long gone.”

     Bilbo wanted to scoff. He took the ring off his finger and stepped into the light of the setting sun. “No, he isn’t,” he said, and quite liked the faces everyone had upon seeing him. He’d never seen a more surprised and astonished bunch.

     Gandalf laughed from relief. “Bilbo Baggins! I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my life.”

     Kíli’s grin could’ve lit a whole dark cavern. “Bilbo! We’d given you up.”

     “How on earth did you get past the goblins?” asked Fíli next to his sister.

     “How indeed?” grunted Dwalin.

     Bilbo had no idea what to say to that, so he let out an awkward laugh and quickly slid the ring into his pocket. The Company wouldn’t believe him if he told them, so he didn’t bother to try.

     “Well, what does it matter?” said Gandalf. “He is back.”

     “No, it matters,” Thorin cut in. “I want to know – why did you come back?”

     Wait, did Thorin ask _why_ he came back? Bilbo bit his lip and looked Thorin straight in the eye.

     “Look, I know you doubt me and I know you always have,” answered Bilbo, and probably just imagined the flash of guilt in Thorin’s eyes. “And you’re right, I often think of Bag End.” He shrugged. “I miss my books, and my arm chair, and my garden… See, that’s where I belong. That’s home.” Bilbo’s voice cracked. “And that’s why I came back, because… you don’t have one.” At this point all the Dwarves were gaping at Bilbo, and he noticed Frerin’s lips were tightened. “A home. It was taken from you. But I will help you take it back if I can.”

     That clearly wasn’t the answer the Dwarves had expected. Most of them looked like they were ashamed, Thorin included (time of miracles wasn’t over), but then there was Frerin who was visibly holding back tears, and Fíli and Kíli who beamed at Bilbo. As far as Bilbo knew, those two had never seen the Lonely Mountain, which somehow made their reaction even more endearing than it already was. The moment was, for the lack of a better word, tender. Bilbo looked back at Thorin, who was about to say something.

     He was cut off by a howl, and suddenly it was darker than a moment ago.

     “Out of the frying pan,” said Thorin.

     “And into the fire,” supplied Gandalf. “Run. Run!”

     As if running for their lives hadn’t been what they had been doing for almost a half of the whole quest so far. The last of the sun’s warmth had disappeared and Bilbo could barely see where he was going. The howls were getting closer and closer, until a Warg jumped over Bilbo. He drew his sword but couldn’t charge before the huge beast did – right into the sword. Bilbo couldn’t move for a while, he kept staring at the dead Warg in disbelief. He had killed it. He had never killed anything bigger than flies before this. Near him Ori knocked another Warg dead with a giant war hammer, Bifur threw one of his axes at another, and Thorin and Frerin killed third. They couldn’t escape further, though, because they ended up on a cliff full of pine trees.

     “Up into the trees!” shouted Gandalf, and the Dwarves were quick to obey. “Come on! Climb, Bilbo! Climb!”

     Bilbo was going to do so but his sword was stuck in the Warg’s skull, very tightly so. Another pack of Wargs was already running down the hill at them, and the rest of the Company was up in the trees when Bilbo finally managed to pull his sword free. He turned around and stared right at the Wargs coming at him.

     Bilbo had never climbed anywhere faster. Frerin and Bofur helped too. The Wargs beneath them barked at them and jumped, trying to reach them, but to no avail.

     Then all of the sudden the Wargs went quiet and still, and Bilbo noticed that Frerin paled. He looked at the direction Frerin was staring at, and saw a pale-skinned Orc riding a white Warg, both bigger than the others, their presence heavy and the air filled with fear and anger. Bilbo had of course heard Balin’s story all those weeks ago, he would’ve recognised the Orc even without Thorin’s shocked gasp.

     “Azog.”

     The Pale Orc sniffed the air and said something in a strange guttural language. Bilbo had no idea what he said, but it most likely wasn’t a polite invite for afternoon tea.

     Thorin shook his head. “It cannot be.”

     Next to Bilbo Frerin was breathing heavily. Bilbo had never seen him as frightened, and that itself was frightening. Frerin had been the best candidate for the bravest person Bilbo had ever known.

     Azog said something again, and there was no mistaking what was said this time. The Wargs started to charge again, this time even more furiously, ripping branches off the pines and scratching so hard they lost bits of their claws. For the Company’s horror the roots of the trees started to creak and crack under the weight of the Warg pack. The first tree to fall was the one Thorin and Balin were in, so they jumped off to the nearest other tree, which was the one Bilbo, Frerin, and Bofur were in. Soon after that one too started to fall, and one by one all the trees did, aside from the one lonely pine at the edge of the cliff. They were trapped.

     Azog laughed at them. The Wargs circled around the last pine, probably pondering whether it was worth the risk of fall to attack.

     And that was the window Gandalf used to throw a flaming pinecone at them. He then dropped several more, first to Fíli who used it to light new ones with Bilbo, and then the rest of them, and quickly the entire Company had flaming pinecones to throw at the Wargs. Some of them missed, lighting the dry bushes aflame, but others hit their targets and the Wargs backed off after many of them had their furs singed. That wiped the smug grin off Azog’s face faster than Bilbo had escaped the creature Gollum.

     The Company yelled from joy and would’ve celebrated, but their luck was short-lived. Now even the last pine started to fall, no doubt due all the weight it carried. Everyone clutched onto their branches that had now literally become their lifelines.

     “Mister Gandalf!” shouted Dori just before he lost his grip. Gandalf shoved his staff at him not a second too late, otherwise both Dori and Ori would’ve plunged into their doom.

     “No! Dori! Ori!” shrieked Nori who still managed to hold onto their branch. “Hold on! I’m comin’!”

     “Don’t! Stay put!” ordered Dwalin, pulling Nori’s sleeve. “They’re gonna fall if you go!”

     No one moved a muscle after that for a moment, until Thorin turned to look at Azog and slowly pulled himself back on his feet. Bilbo stared with wide eyes how Thorin pulled out his sword and started to walk slowly along the tree trunk.

     “Thorin, Thorin, don’t!” begged Frerin two branches from Bilbo, but Thorin paid no heed. Something about his bearing had changed. Bilbo couldn’t quite place it until Thorin had got off the tree trunk and properly charged through the fire. This wasn’t the stoic Thorin Bilbo had met in Bag End. He was going in for the kill. Frerin was trembling, as though he was sobbing. The silence was overbearing until Thorin was so close to Azog that the Pale Orc finally charged on his Warg – and knocked Thorin down.

     “NO!” cried Frerin.

     Azog turned his Warg around and waited for Thorin to struggle to get back on his feet before he charged again, this time striking Thorin in the face with his mace. Balin joined Frerin’s yells, and Bilbo pulled himself up on his branch. He was desperate. He had to do something, he had to help, but how? He was only one Hobbit, what could he do against a giant Orc and a Warg?

     Azog’s Warg bit its jaws around Thorin’s torso, and Bilbo hoped he’d never have to hear a scream of pain like that again.

     “Thorin! No!” yelled Dwalin and tried to get up to his friend’s rescue, but his branch cracked.

     Thorin tried to strike the Warg with his sword, but to no avail. The Warg threw him on the rocks nearby, and he was able to make only some feeble movements. Bilbo pulled out his sword and sneaked closer. The Orcs hadn’t noticed him, so now he just had to wait for the right moment to attack.

     Azog said something to another Orc, who then climbed off the Warg he rode, and approached Thorin, placing his sabre on Thorin’s neck. Right, time to go. With a surge of courage Bilbo didn’t know he had, he let out a yell and tacked the Orc right on time. The Orc tried to strike him, and they battled on the ground until Bilbo managed to stab him in his chest.

     The Orc moved no more so Bilbo stumbled up and moved to stand between Thorin and Azog. He wasn’t sure what to think of the Dwarf prince, but he’d be damned if he let the Pale Orc kill him. Bilbo waved his sword at Azog, knowing that he wasn’t very intimidating to anyone really, but he had to try. Thorin’s life was at stake.

     Azog growled something again, and the Orcs beside him started to approach Bilbo. There were three of them, all riding a Warg, and Bilbo knew he wouldn’t be able to fend them off for long.

     But he didn’t have to.

     First came two battle cries, one higher than the other, and Fíli and Kíli charged at the Orcs, closely followed by Dwalin and Frerin. Bilbo followed the suit, only to be knocked off his feet by a Warg. Frerin shoved his axe into that Warg’s skull, which gave Bilbo a window to get away from the worst skirmish – at least until he got face-to-face with Azog and his Warg. Bilbo reached for his sword as the Warg started to close in with its rider, both ready for the kill–

     And that was when the Eagles came.

     A flock of giant Eagles arrived, first rescuing Dori and Ori (Dori had finally lost his grip of Gandalf’s staff), and then attacked the Orc pack. Several of them pushed down the remaining trees that had remained unharmed on the Wargs, snatched them in their talons and dropped over the cliff, or used their wings to boost the flames even higher to drive the pack off.

     One of the Eagles flew slowly to Thorin and took him in his talons, but the oaken branch that had become Thorin’s shield fell off his arm. As the Eagle flew away, Azog let out a terrible yell. Another Eagle snatched Bilbo in his talons and dropped him off the cliff. Bilbo screamed – but landed on a third Eagle’s back, which had apparently been the meaning. He sheathed his sword quickly and dug his fingers into the mighty bird’s feathers. That had easily been one of the most stressful events of his life.

     What little Bilbo could see in the moonlight, the rest of the Company seemed to have escaped mostly unharmed as well. They were either on the backs of the Eagles like he was, or in their talons (this was the case for Thorin and Bombur, at least). That was a relief. Bilbo couldn’t imagine the Company without one or more of them, even if they weren’t exactly his friends.

     They flew for what seemed a long time, and finally the night started to make way for dawn and the first rays of the Sun. Bilbo could finally see clearly and count the Dwarves. Yes, they were all there. Thorin, however, was still motionless.

     “Thorin!” Bilbo heard Fíli shout. Nothing happened. Bilbo kept his eyes on Thorin, but the Dwarf prince remained unconscious for the whole time.

     The flight went on over mountains and hills and streams, and Bilbo tried to distract himself with them, but none of the beauty of the area could take his mind off Thorin. Thorin had to be all right, he had to be, Bilbo didn’t even want to think about the alternatives. Oh, it wasn’t as much for his sake as it was for Frerin, Fíli, and Kíli. They didn’t deserve to lose Thorin like that. And… well, Bilbo had to admit that he had come to admire Thorin, very much so.

     Finally they made it to a huge rock that from one angle looked like a bear’s head (but surely Bilbo only imagined it). The Eagles flocked around it, and the Eagle who carried Thorin approached it slowly and gently laid him in between two rock formations on the top. After that the Eagles started to drop off the rest of the Company, starting from Gandalf who then hurried to Thorin as soon as his feet touched the rock.

     Bilbo was dropped off soon after Gandalf and saw how the Wizard moved his hand over Thorin, mumbling some spell while doing so. A few seconds later Thorin blinked and stirred.

     “The Halfling?” he asked weakly.

     “It’s all right,” answered Gandalf with a smile. “Bilbo is here. He is quite safe.”

     Thorin struggled to get up, so Dwalin and Frerin went for his aid and held his arms. Bilbo sighed from relief. Thorin was fine, maybe very injured, but alive.

     Thorin shook Frerin and Dwalin off, staring at Bilbo.

     “You!” he exclaimed, and Bilbo frowned. “What were you doing? You nearly got yourself killed!”

     Well, you’re welcome, thought Bilbo, and opened his mouth to say something, but Thorin wasn’t done. And then again, Bilbo didn’t actually know what to say.

     Thorin let out a heavy sigh. “Did I not say that you would be a burden?”

     “Thorin, he…” began Frerin, but Thorin cut him off by raising his hand.

     “That you would not survive in the wild?” Thorin continued as if there had been no interruption. “That you had no place amongst us?”

     Bilbo developed a sudden interest in the tips of Thorin’s boots. He didn’t know what he had expected, maybe a quick thank you, maybe some general gruffness, but certainly not this. For goodness’ sake, he had just tried to do the right thing, he–

     “I have never been so wrong in all my life!”

     Saying that, Thorin pulled Bilbo into a tight embrace. Bilbo froze completely for a moment because this definitely was odd. Thorin didn’t hug people. Bifur and some others, maybe his cousins, Balin, Nori, and Ori, cheered in the background, and Bilbo noticed that Fíli and Kíli were beaming, and Frerin and Bofur exchanged tender glances. Dwalin was leaning on his war hammer and looked like he didn’t know where to look.

     Thorin pulled Bilbo even closer for a moment before they parted, but they kept looking at each other.

     “I am sorry I doubted you,” said Thorin and sounded sincere.

     Bilbo shook his head. “No, I– I would’ve doubted me too. I’m not a hero, or a warrior.” He gave Gandalf a pointed glance. “Not even a burglar.”

     Many of the Company chuckled, and Thorin kept smiling at Bilbo, looking so gentle and soft that Bilbo felt like blushing. The Eagles were taking their leave, and as the Company watched them go, Thorin looked over Bilbo’s shoulder and suddenly opened his mouth a bit, eyes wide as if he had just seen a ghost.

     Bilbo turned around to see what it was and caught on quickly. “Is that… what I think it is?”

     He and Thorin approached the edge of the rock, and Thorin was smiling again. The rest of the Company followed them (Bilbo heard the sounds of their boots). In the light of the morning sun, many hundred miles away, across the vast wilderness, bathed a single solitary peak. Bilbo nearly had an urge to hold Thorin’s hand upon seeing it.

     “Erebor,” announced Gandalf, though everyone already knew it. “The Lonely Mountain. The last of the great Dwarf kingdoms of Middle-Earth.”

     “Our home,” said Thorin. Someone, probably Frerin, sniffed behind him and Bilbo.

     A bird chirped and flew over them towards the Lonely Mountain.

     “A raven!” exclaimed Óin, still holding his battered ear trumpet. “The birds are returning to the Mountain!”

     Gandalf chuckled. “That, my dear Óin, is a thrush.”

     “But we’ll take it as a sign,” said Thorin, and looked at Bilbo again with the gentlest smile. “A good omen.”

     Bilbo smiled back at Thorin. “You’re right,” he said and let out a sigh. “I do believe the worst is behind us.”

     Behind them Fíli looked at the rock they were standing on and how long way it was to the ground, and groaned something about the Eagles actually dropping them off a bit closer to the ground. According to him, this was ridiculous. Thorin chuckled and patted his nephew’s shoulder.

     “Don’t worry, there are stairs over there,” he said and pointed to the rather steep formation starting at the back of the rock. “But let us rest for a while before we take off.”

     As if on a cue everyone sat down, moaning from exhaustion. They all had run so much without a breather that more or less everyone swore they would sleep the whole day if they could. Frerin moved closer to Thorin and said something to him in Dwarvish. Whatever it was, Thorin only rolled his eyes and twitched his brother’s nose a bit. Frerin made a face at that and then proceeded to hug Bilbo.

     “Thank you,” he murmured. “If you hadn’t stepped in… who knows…?”

     “I know,” answered Bilbo, and patted Frerin’s back. “But he is alive and well. We all are. I do think everything will be fine.”

     Frerin nodded and let Bilbo go. “Still, you saved him. We’re eternally at your service, Fíli, Kíli, and I.”

     Fíli and Kíli agreed, and they too hugged Bilbo, albeit with less solemnity than their uncles.

     “It was amazing what you did!” praised Kíli. “No training whatsoever and you took down a huge Orc! Amazing!”

     “Well,” said Bilbo, and scratched his head awkwardly. “I did what anyone else would’ve done under the circumstances, I’m sure.”

     Frerin shook his head. “But we couldn’t do anything until you did. We were all stuck in the tree and unable to move. If you hadn’t gone, Thorin would’ve died.”

     Bilbo looked over at Thorin who was chatting with Balin and Dwalin, probably assuring that he was fine and they didn’t have to fuss, and smiled softly.

     “It was worth it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the dialogue is taken and/or modified from The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey
> 
> And this is actually the last time that happens. The AUJ arc is finally finished!
> 
> Comments are appreciated as always ♥


	7. Chapter VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fíli and Kíli run into a surprise, Thorin and Bilbo share a tender moment, the Company has to decide which is worse, an Orc pack or a giant ferocious bear, and Frerin and Bofur come out of the proverbial closet AT LAST. (Seriously, everyone already knew, they're not subtle.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *old woman voice* it's been 84 years...
> 
> In all seriousness, this should not have taken this long to finish, but at least it's now done, and I'm gonna push myself to get chapter VIII out a lot quicker (this took... nine months???? the fuck)
> 
> As always, a huge thanks to my wonderful beta, [Tayla](http://dragonbilbo.tumblr.com) ♥ this fic would be so much less coherent without her~
> 
> Also, it's the start of the DoS arc! Woohoo! We're gonna have Tauriel soon!

After the Company had descended from the rock (the Carrock, Gandalf had called it), Thorin sent Fíli and Kíli to hunt. They hadn’t eaten in a long while, and the siblings were their most skilful hunters. Bombur did grumble a bit that he couldn’t fix anything proper because he didn’t have his pans and spices, as they had lost most of their equipment in the goblin tunnels, but the others were ready to eat small rocks at this point.

     Fíli took out his hunting knives long before he or his sister saw any prey. Kíli nudged him at that point.

     “What?” asked Fíli.

     “Nothing, just wondering where your mind is,” answered Kíli with a grin. Fíli chuckled and shrugged.

     “I suppose I was thinking how relieved I am that everyone is still alive and in one piece,” he said. “And how thankful I am that Bilbo saved Uncle Thorin. Imagine trying to explain things to ‘Amad and Mum if things had gone wrong. They’d never let us hear the end of it.”

     Kíli snorted a laugh, but frowned right after. She bit her lip before asking, “Do you think ‘Amad was right? That this is just a crazy suicide mission that will only end in tears?”

     Fíli sighed. He did not know. Maybe Dís had been right to call it a suicide mission, given how close to death they had already come. But then again, none of them had died or even got seriously injured (aside from Uncle Thorin, and even he was already healing) so maybe they’d have luck on their side in the future too. It was hard to tell, future wasn’t exactly carved into stone. They all could just as well survive and reclaim Erebor.

     “Kíli, I–” Fíli began, but cut off when he saw a random pile of cloth stuck on a sandbank in the river.

     “What?” said Kíli. Fíli pointed at the pile.

     “Look,” he said. “I think… I think those might be ours.”

     The siblings looked at each other and then rushed to inspect the pile. They found many familiar items, so Fíli had been right. Those were their rucksacks and all the equipment they had lost in the goblin tunnels! Somehow the river had washed them there. Fíli rubbed his beard. If he remembered correctly, there weren’t any rivers crossing with this one, Andúin, anywhere near, so he had no idea how this was possible. Fíli decided to investigate the matter after the quest, if he should live. But they had their things back. Fíli smiled as he pulled out the mittens Mum had packed for him. Sure, they were wet, but other than that nothing had happened to them.

     Next to him Kíli was tearing up. She showed a piece of fabric that had the outline of a royal blue raven in it.

     “This is the comb purse I was making for Uncle Thorin,” she said with a thick voice. “It’s all here, my threads, my fabrics, my needles…”

     Fíli smiled and hugged his sister. “I know. I found my mittens. Remember how Mum fussed and made us promise we’d dress warmly?”

     Kíli let out a teary laugh. “Feels like a million years ago.”

     They both wiped tears from their cheeks and started to gather the rucksacks and other items on the shore. Everyone would be so pleased once they’d find out. Fíli sent Kíli to fetch the others once they had rescued everything they could find. The current wasn’t very strong here, so they were quite positive that it hadn’t washed off anything too important.

     While Kíli was gone Fíli started to go through his belongings. He grinned at a dark green scarf, matching to the mittens. While their ‘amad had just made them swear they’d look after each other (and their uncles), their mum had packed every single warm piece of garment that she had been able to find in their rucksacks.

      _“Remember to put on woolly socks when you get to the Misty Mountains,” Víli had told Fíli and Kíli. “Your feet get cold so easily…”_

_Dís had given Kíli a rune stone, making her promise she’d come back for her. Then Dís had turned to her son._

_“Fíli,” she had said. “Look after your sister. And your uncles. You’re the most responsible one out of this bunch.”_

_“I’m only one Dwarf!” Fíli had answered with a laugh. Dís hadn’t laughed. She had had tears in her eyes when she had hugged Fíli._

_“Come home safe,” she had said. “Stay safe.”_

_“I will, ‘Amad,” Fíli had promised._

     But now? Now he wasn’t so sure that he would get home safe anymore. Uncle Thorin had already had a close call, and who knew what the future would bring. Fíli pulled out his best hunting knife, the one that his ‘amad had given him the day they had left for the quest. The knife had already seen danger on the road, so Dís had hoped it would protect Fíli.

     Fíli squeezed the knife’s hilt. “I’ll see you again, ‘Amad, Mum, I promise,” he whispered to himself.

     A few moments later Fíli heard the noises of the Company coming nearer, so he put the knife back in its scabbard and stood up. Thorin and Frerin were there first, with Kíli who hadn’t looked as radiant in ages.

     “We thought Kíli was joking when she said you had found all of our belongings,” said Frerin. “How in Durin’s name did this happen?”

     Fíli shrugged. “That I cannot say, but I don’t think it matters that much. We gathered everything we could find, and I hope everything is where it should be.”

     Judging from all the delighted squeals nothing too important had been lost. Everything was, of course, soaked and would take a while to dry, but that didn’t matter either. Fíli saw how Thorin let out a relieved sigh when he dug through his rucksack, and Frerin did the same and pulled out two throwing axes.

     “These darlings aren’t going in my pack again,” he decided.

     Thorin put his rucksack down and looked at Fíli and Kíli. “Well done, you two. Now, if the rest of us put these up to dry, can you continue the hunt?”

     Fíli and Kíli nodded in unison.

     “Of course, we’ll be right at it,” answered Fíli. “Kíli, come. We need loads of game to feed this lot.”

     Kíli giggled and followed her brother back to the woods. The area was green and fertile, and hopefully there weren’t many other predators around. Hunting was always easier when the prey was unaccustomed to hunters. This time Fíli felt a lot more confident about it. And true enough, it wasn’t long until the siblings returned to the campsite with four grouse, large enough to feed fourteen Dwarves, a Hobbit, and a Wizard.

 

* * *

 

The Company set camp close to the riverbank where Fíli and Kíli had found most, if not all, of their belongings, and Thorin was finally able to check the injuries the Warg’s jaws had caused. Even though Óin’s loud tutting and grumbles might’ve implied anything else, there was less damage than Thorin had expected. He had suffered mostly deep wounds, but those would heal quite easily. None of his ribs or other bones were broken, which was a relief. They had no time to lose and broken bones were the last thing they would need. Óin’s gauze had dried already and he took to binding the wounds even though they didn’t bleed anymore.

     “Better safe than sorry, lad,” he said when Thorin tried to object and claim that he was fine. “What if they reopen in a situation where I cannae bind them, eh? What then?”

     And of course Óin was right, but it didn’t make the undressing in front of the entire Company any less unpleasant. Not that Thorin was averse to nudity, especially when the rest of the Company was taking turns at bathing in the river, it was just that he could hear everyone’s worried and fussy gasps and sighs when Óin bound the gauze around his chest. Thorin put his tunic back on as soon as Óin was done and cleared his throat, pretending nothing had happened.

     “Does it hurt?” asked Frerin as he sat next to Thorin on the log with a bowl of grouse stew.

     “Not anymore,” answered Thorin. “Do not worry so much, honestly. Gandalf took care of most of the damage and I didn’t break any bones. I’m fine, it’s nothing.”

     Frerin made a face. “Last I checked, getting battered by Azog and being used as a Warg’s chew toy aren’t ‘nothing’.”

     Thorin rolled his eyes. Frerin was right, of course, but Thorin wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of admitting it. Instead he changed the subject.

     “How about you?” he asked. “Are you alright?”

     Frerin sighed. “I don’t know. I’m shocked, scared, and shocked a couple more times. I… I thought Azog was dead. I thought he had already died of the wounds you inflicted him.”

     “So did I,” Thorin sighed too. “I suppose I should have cut off his head when I had the chance.”

     Frerin squeezed Thorin’s shoulder. “You couldn’t have known. And I’d probably be dead now if you hadn’t decided to go help me instead of finishing him off.”

     Well, Thorin could hardly argue with that. He pressed his forehead against Frerin’s, and then they hugged each other. Frerin clung onto Thorin’s tunic and whispered, “Don’t ever do anything like that again, you utter prick.”

     Thorin let out a teary laugh and promised to do his best. Then Frerin got up abruptly and went to chat with Bofur and Nori, which in itself wasn’t unusual, but Frerin didn’t tend to leave like that without any explanation – until Thorin realised that by doing so his brother had left him alone with Bilbo. There was no way that was an accident, Thorin knew Frerin far too well. Bilbo was smoking his pipe and seemed adamant to look anywhere except at Thorin. There was a heavy silence between them, and while Thorin had never been very talkative, now the silence bothered him.

     Thorin pulled out his own pipe and turned to Bilbo.

     “Do you have any pipe-weed?” he asked.

     Bilbo looked up in surprise, but nodded. “Hang on a second,” he said and started to dig through his rucksack. Finally he found a small tobacco pouch. “Here. Longbottom Leaf, best pipe-weed in the Shire.”

     Thorin detected some pride in Bilbo’s voice and took the pouch with a small smile. “Thank you. My own is still wet.”

     “Your brother made me try one of his blends,” said Bilbo. “I thought I was going to choke.”

     Thorin snorted. “He made you try his extra strong blend that is not even actually suitable for smoking. It’s too strong for us Dwarves as well, but he likes to have a laugh with it.”

     “Ah,” Bilbo nodded. “That explains why he had such a hard time trying not to giggle.”

     Thorin reached out to pat Bilbo’s shoulder but decided against it. Sure, Bilbo had accepted his apology and had saved his life, but Thorin still felt terribly self-conscious. He started to chew on his pipe, and silence fell between him and Bilbo again. Thorin felt like the entire Company was watching him and making a wordless insist that he’d talk to Bilbo. This probably wasn’t true because a quick look told him that only Frerin and Gandalf were staring at him and Bilbo, but still. It was distressing.

     Thorin smoked his pipe in silence for a good while, watching the Company do whatever it was that they liked to do on breaks. Kíli was carrying on with her embroidery (and had promptly refused to tell Thorin what it was that she worked with); Balin and Dori were grooming each other’s beards and it was so intimate that Thorin had to look away; Dwalin and Nori were arm-wrestling again; Bombur was cooking a second set of stew of the birds Fíli and Kíli had hunted; Óin and Glóin were arguing about something that wasn’t very serious since Óin pretended not to hear his brother; Ori was showing off something he had drawn to anyone who was willing to look (especially Fíli)… They didn’t have that long a time to take a break, so all of this chatter was rather soothing to listen to.

     “Um…”

     Thorin startled at the sudden sound and coughed the smoke he had accidentally breathed in. Bilbo gave him a sheepish smile at that.

     “I just… I never actually thanked you for saving my life back in the mountains.”

     Wait what? “Oh, that’s– um, well, I never thanked _you_ for not letting me be decapitated by an Orc,” countered Thorin with an awkward grin.

     Bilbo laughed. “I sort of assumed your apology also included the thank you.”

     Thorin shrugged. “Nevertheless. And I am sorry for what I said after I had saved you.”

     Bilbo patted Thorin’s hand. “I forgive you, Everyone was under a lot of pressure back then, and sometimes when they’re stressed people say things they don’t necessarily mean.”

     “That’s very kind of you, Master Baggins,” answered Thorin. Frerin and Bofur laughed at that point, and it was impossible to tell whether it was about something else or if they laughed at Thorin. Knowing his brother and his lover, Thorin was more inclined to believe the latter.

     A sudden howl interrupted all the merry-making. It came from across the river and though it sounded like it was still far away, everyone either fingered their weapons or started to pack up their belongings.

     “We must leave,” said Gandalf. “Leave everything that isn’t absolutely vital behind. The smell coming from them will stall Azog for a moment.”

     That roused loud groans. They had just got their belongings back and now they had to abandon them again? That wasn’t fair at all, even if everyone did understand that to escape an Orc pack they had to travel light. Problem was that they were still far from the borders of Mirkwood. On Wargs the Orcs would run them down long before they’d reach the vast forest.

     Dori, Glóin, and Bombur offered to take their rucksacks and put anything that was vital but too big to carry in small packs or in belt pouches in them. The others left their rucksacks and some pieces of clothing and minor objects such as goblets and unnecessary eating utensils around the camp. They were all disgruntled about it but if it stalled the Orc pack then the sacrifice was worth it. Gandalf suggested that Fíli ought to leave some of his many knives and daggers behind, and Thorin snorted a laugh when Fíli said, “Oh aye, and maybe you should leave your staff behind too!”

     And thus Fíli kept his weapons on his body, wherever they happened to be, and not once fell behind as they – once again – ran for their lives. The Orc pack was still many leagues away but given how fast the Wargs could travel, they couldn’t afford to lose what head start they had.

 

* * *

 

Bilbo was so tired of running. That and meals that were too few and far between had made him lose more weight than what was respectable. Still, he kept up with the Company and even surprised himself with it. A day after they had left their short-term campsite, sometime before sunrise, Gandalf decided to send Bilbo to scout for the Orcs’ location. This was not what Bilbo had signed up for but he left anyway. Judging from the howling that got closer all the time the pack couldn’t be too far away, and that if anything was frightening.

     Bilbo climbed up a hill and took a peek between two rocks. The Orcs were across the valley, numbers more or less the same as they had been the last time Bilbo had seen them, and–

     Bilbo gasped and hid behind one of the rocks. Azog had looked directly at him, though he hoped that the Pale Orc hadn’t noticed him. It was still a considerable distance and Bilbo was small, surely he hadn’t been spotted.

     And suddenly the Orcs weren’t the only problem.

     Bilbo heard growling from his left and turned to look. It was a black bear, only much, much bigger, probably twice as large. This was not good, Bilbo decided, and sneaked away, minding his every step. Orcs chasing the Company was bad enough, they really didn’t need a bear chasing them too on top of everything.

     Bilbo started to jog as soon as he couldn’t see the bear creature anymore, and the first members of the Company he saw were Thorin and Dwalin. Thank goodness, thought Bilbo, and ran to them.

     “How close is the pack?” asked Thorin instantly.

     “Too close,” said Bilbo, trying to catch his breath. “A couple of leagues, no more. But that’s not the worst of it.”

     Dwalin glanced at Thorin and then asked, “Have the Wargs picked up our scent?”

     “Not yet, but they will do eventually.” Bilbo fidgeted where he stood. “We have another problem.”

     At that Thorin frowned and opened his mouth, but Gandalf was quicker.

     “Did they see you?” he demanded and when Bilbo didn’t immediately reply his eyes widened. “They saw you.”

     Bilbo shook his head impatiently. “No, that’s not it.”

     Gandalf nodded with a smile. “What did I tell you? Quiet as a mouse. Excellent burglar material.”

     Bilbo groaned and as the Dwarves chattered their approval he exclaimed, “Will you just listen?!” The Company gave him their full attention. Bilbo pointed at the woody rocks where he had been and said, “I’m trying to tell you, there is something else out there!”

     That made everyone fall completely silent. Thorin and Dwalin looked at each other again, and Dwalin groaned a bit. Bilbo agreed with him in that regard. As if the Orcs hadn’t been enough.

     “What form did it take?” asked Gandalf, and Bilbo thought it was a very odd question indeed. “Like a bear?”

     Wait what? “Ye– Yes, but bigger, much bigger,” answered Bilbo.

     Gandalf changed his footing.

     Next to Bilbo Bofur trembled. “You knew about this beast?”

     Frerin put his hand on his lover’s shoulder, probably as a reassuring gesture, but when Gandalf turned away, Bofur said, “I say we double back.”

     “And be run down by a pack of Orcs?” snorted Thorin.

     The Dwarves started to clamour again. Gandalf turned back and announced, “There is a house… it’s not far from here, where we might take refuge.”

     If Bilbo knew Thorin at all, then it was clear as day that the Dwarf prince wasn’t convinced. “Whose house? Are they friend or foe?”

     “Neither,” said Gandalf. “He will help us or… he will kill us.”

     Now that wasn’t very reassuring.

     “What choice do we have?” asked Thorin, and then they heard the bear creature roar from an uncomfortably close distance.

     “None,” said Gandalf with a dismissing tone, and the Company took off.

     As the sun began to rise they could hear the howls of the Wargs getting nearer and nearer. Gandalf urged the Company to run on as fast as they could, but the Orc pack closed in with every step. Sooner or later they’d be run down, and Bilbo very much wished he had returned to Rivendell when he had the chance. Except in that case Thorin would’ve probably died, so on second thought…

     Suddenly the bear creature roared again and the Company halted. Oh, this was just as bad as the Orcs, if not even worse.

     “This way!” shouted Gandalf. “Quickly!”

     The Company ran after Gandalf, except Bombur who had frozen, and it took Thorin pulling from his beard to get him move again. The Company ran down a hill to a grass plain where they could see an enormous house surrounded by a hedgerow – and as they approached it Bombur ran past all of them. They reached the gate and Gandalf urged them to get inside. Bombur ran into the doors, and Fíli and Kíli tried to push them open, to no avail. And at that moment the huge black bear creature emerged from the woods and galloped straight at them.

     “Open the door!” shouted Gandalf.

     “Quickly!” yelled Thorin, but then saw that the doors were closed with a bar and no one else could reach it, so he ran to push it up. The doors flew open and the Company rushed in, almost tackling each other. Gandalf was the last one in and he just about dodged the evidently angry bear creature that also tried to get inside.

     “Push!” shouted both Dori and Kíli, and the Dwarves gathered to push the doors back closed. Not an easy task, considering that the bear was much bigger and probably stronger than all of them together. Bilbo pulled out his sword, not that it would’ve helped much if the bear got in, but it made him feel safer. And then, after a few struggling and sweaty seconds, the Dwarves managed to close the doors and lock them up with a plank.

     “What is that?” asked Ori with a breathless voice.

     “That is our host,” replied Gandalf, and everyone stared at him in disbelief. Gandalf smiled coyly. “His name is Beorn, and he is a skin-changer.” He turned to inspect the queer lodgings. “Sometimes he’s a huge black bear, sometimes a great strong man. The bear is unpredictable, but the man can be reasoned with.” Gandalf patted the head of a brown cow that was eating its hay near him.

     The Dwarves scattered to see the place. All the furniture was huge, much bigger than those in Rivendell, and Bilbo couldn’t help but wonder how tall Beorn actually was.

     “However,” continued Gandalf, “he is not over fond of Dwarves.”

     Well, that wasn’t a surprise to any of them. Few people in Middle-Earth were.

     Beorn the bear growled, and Ori peeked through a crack in the door. “He’s leaving,” he whispered.

     Dori grabbed the sleeve of his youngest sibling and pulled him away. “Come away from there! It’s not natural, none of it!” He looked up at Gandalf. “It’s obvious, he is under some dark spell.”

     Gandalf scoffed. “Don’t be a fool. He is under no enchantment but his own.” With a kinder tone he added, “All right, now get some rest, all of you. You’ll be safe here tonight.”

     Only Bilbo heard him add under his breath, “I hope.”

 

* * *

 

Frerin yawned as he settled his weapons on the hay in one corner where the Company had decided to sleep that night. It was midday but they were all sleep deprived and heavy limbed, and Nori, Óin, and Glóin were snoring already. The others were all over Beorn’s house, who was petting the cows and who exploring the huge furniture. As it was just one room a quick look told Frerin something potentially significant.

     Thorin and Bilbo were nowhere to be seen.

     Frerin was just about to go looking for them, when Bofur grabbed his arm and said in a low voice, “We need to tell ‘em. About us. It’s killing me to keep it still a secret. It’s been going on for too long.”

     Frerin just stared. “Is this the time and place?”

     “Well it better be,” said Bofur, “’cause I’m telling Bifur and Bombur as soon as Bombur wakes up. Frerin,” Bofur grabbed Frerin’s hand, “we might die any moment. We’ve already had too many close calls. So either you tell your family we’re courtin’ or I’ll do it for you.”

      Frerin snorted a laugh, but Bofur proved his point by moving slightly closer to Fíli and Kíli.

     “Fine, fine!” sighed Frerin and raised his hands as a sign of defeat. “I’ll go find Thorin right away then.”

     “You’d better, or you won’t be getting any–” Bofur made a lewd gesture “–from me tonight.”

     Frerin rolled his eyes. Where would they even do it and when would they even have a private moment for it? Outside would be too risky because of the Orcs and inside wasn’t private at all, and Frerin quite preferred not to scar his sister-children for life. Still, he decided to go look for Thorin from the backyard, since it was the only logical place where he could be.

     The backyard was green and vast and ended in a group of trees (not Mirkwood yet, though) and there were ponies and enormous bees grazing around. For a place that was so close to Mirkwood it was actually very charming.

     Frerin looked around and saw Thorin and Bilbo sitting on a bench, chatting in voices too low for him to hear but they were very close to each other. Bilbo’s back was turned to Frerin so Frerin couldn’t see his gestures, but Thorin was playing with his braids and – actually smiling? Well that was new.

     “Hey! Thorin!” called Frerin.

     Thorin and Bilbo jumped apart and both were very red at cheeks and ears. It was almost as if… NO! They couldn’t have! They couldn’t have almost kissed and Frerin couldn’t have just barged in like the big clod he was! Definitely NOT!

     “Um, I’ll just… go,” mumbled Bilbo and sneaked back inside.

     Thorin was still blushing and refused to meet Frerin’s eyes when he asked, “What now?”

     “Er,” said Frerin and promptly looked at anything but Thorin. “I– I need to talk to you. And Fíli and Kíli. Now.”

     At that Thorin did look up and raised an eyebrow. “What is it? You never sound serious like that.”

     “Uh, just come with me, will you?” grunted Frerin. He didn’t want to prolong this more.

     Thorin got back up on his feet with a low groan (his wounds were still smarting a bit) and followed Frerin inside to the stall where Fíli and Kíli were petting a cow whose fur covered her eyes.

     “Fíli, Kíli, we need to talk,” said Frerin.

     “Why? What’s wrong?” asked Fíli, frowning a bit. Kíli mirrored her brother’s expression and they looked so much like their mothers that for a moment Frerin was filled with longing for Dís’ sarcasm and Víli’s kindness.

     Frerin shook his head, partially to clear it. “Nothing’s wrong. There’s just something I need to tell you all.”

     They were all silent for a moment until Frerin took a deep breath and blurted, “I’m courting Bofur.”

     “Holy beard of Durin!” exclaimed Fíli.

     “Mahal’s hammer and beard I can’t believe it!” yelled Thorin at the same time.

     That sounded slightly suspicious but Frerin continued, “And we’ve been secretly courting since shortly after Kíli was born.”

     “That is brand-new information!” cried Kíli.

     Frerin crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at all three of them. “You already knew, didn’t you?”

     They all nodded bashfully.

     “Little bit, yeah,” admitted Fíli.

     “Aye, you two aren’t subtle,” stated Thorin. “Bil– Master Baggins and I heard you and Bofur going at it in that bush in Rivendell. Although we all thought you two were only doing it, we didn’t know you were in love.”

     Frerin buried his face in his hands. “Wait, does everyone know?” he asked from between his fingers.

     “Aye, we all know,” said Dwalin who passed by in order to take a nap. “Glad you’re finally out in the open.”

     At that point Frerin was ready to give up the entire quest for a tankard of Víli’s father’s strongest ale. Bofur agreed – his conversation with Bifur and Bombur had been very much the same as Frerin’s, with the exception that Bombur had asked what kind of a wedding cake they’d want, and Bifur had made some very lewd remarks in Iglishmêk.

     “So apparently we’re just that obvious,” sighed Bofur, leaning against Frerin’s shoulder after everyone had offered their congratulations. “Oh well, maybe I’ll still rather have this than them being against our courting.”

     Well, that was true. And it was rather endearing that Fíli and Kíli had instantly taken to calling Bofur “uncle”. After asking everyone it had turned out that they all had known more or less from the start but had collectively agreed not to say anything, as not to embarrass Frerin and Bofur. Even so, Frerin wished someone had hinted that they didn’t have to keep the courting a secret anymore.

     “I don’t understand why you felt like you _had to_ keep it a secret in the first place,” stated Thorin matter-of-factly. “After Dís married Víli it would be very hypocritical of us to say you can’t court a commoner. No offence, Bofur.”

     “None taken,” answered Bofur. “And that’s what I said many times too, though I guess it gave us some extra thrill when it was a secret. Or when we _thought_ it was.”

     “As I said, you two are not subtle,” said Thorin with a small grin. “In the future I’d recommend not kissing right outside Víli’s forge where everyone can see you if you want to keep things private.”

     And with that Thorin left to talk with Gandalf who also had known. At this point Frerin was almost certain that everyone in Middle-Earth knew, including Dáin who hadn’t even met Bofur yet. Against his shoulder Bofur let out a yawn.

    “D’you wanna sleep?” he asked. “I’ll let you borrow my hat.”

     Frerin chuckled and pulled the hat off before he kissed Bofur’s forehead. “Sure, now that we finally can sleep together.”

     That roused some groans from those who were in the hearing distance.

     “You make it sound like we’ve been trying to stop you this entire quest,” said Fíli, shaking his head.

     “Also sleeping is one thing but if you even think of banging I will knock your heads together,” growled Dwalin.

     Frerin scoffed. “As if we’d do it so everyone can see. We’ve more dignity than that.”

     Frerin and Bofur settled their bedrolls on the hay where also Nori, Óin, and Glóin were sleeping (they had been curiously undisturbed by all the ruckus). Bofur put his hat on Frerin’s head and kissed his nose. Frerin giggled and pulled Bofur next to him on the bedroll. Someone near them groaned, but that just made them laugh more.

     Bofur was the first one asleep. Frerin closed his eyes but sleep didn’t come to him, no matter how he tried to relax. His head was still full of what had happened in these past few days. Thorin had almost been killed and now they were chased by Azog, who Frerin had thought long dead. It was something right out of his nightmares.

     Frerin opened his eyes again, and saw that everyone else, too, was one by one settling down to nap. Fíli and Kíli had curled up on either side of Thorin, very much like when they were children. In so many ways they still were children. Frerin sighed. Fíli and Kíli never should have come, this quest had already turned out to be more dangerous than any of them had anticipated.

     Even his dreams were restless. Frerin hadn’t dreamt of Azanulbizar for decades but now all of it came screaming back to him. In his nightmares he saw his entire family slaughtered by Azog, even Dís and Víli who were hundreds of miles away, safe at home in Ered Luin. They were all dead and it was Frerin’s fault, he hadn’t been able to keep them safe, they were _dead dead dead_ –

     “Frerin, wake up!”

     Frerin’s eyes fluttered open. It had got dark while he had been sleeping so at first he wasn’t able to tell the faces in front of him apart but when his eyes adapted he realised that Bofur was holding his hand, and Thorin was sitting next to them. They weren’t dead! Frerin sat up and hugged Bofur, his other hand reaching for Thorin.

     “You’re not dead,” he sputtered, tears in his eyes. “Thank Mahal, thank Mahal…”

     “It was just a nightmare,” said Thorin, clear relief in his voice. “Though you did give us quite a fright. It took a good while from Bofur to wake you.”

     “Aye, you suddenly started to tremble and groan and y’wouldn’t stop,” added Bofur, softly stroking Frerin’s hair. “So I figured I ought to wake Thorin.”

     Frerin clung on Bofur’s coat, sobbing into his hair.

     “You were all dead,” he whispered. “And I wasn’t able to save you.”

     Thorin pressed his forehead against Frerin’s. “It was just a nightmare,” he repeated. “We’re all alive and well for now. Try to get some more sleep.”

     Frerin nodded and let Bofur tuck him in before closing his eyes again. He heard Thorin shuffle, probably moving back to his original sleeping spot. Bofur kissed Frerin’s brow before settling down and placing his hat on Frerin’s face again. Frerin curled against Bofur’s side and slowly let the sleep take him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the dialogue is taken and/or modified from The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug.
> 
> Comments are always appreciated^^


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